


Half Your Age (Plus Seven)

by fancastical



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bisexual Peter, Character Study, Fluff, Long story is long, M/M, Music, Musician Peter, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter is 20 at the beginning of the story, Responsible Wade, Science Nerd Peter, Slow Burn, Spideypool - Freeform, Spideypool Big Bang, The Avengers - Freeform, Three OCs - Freeform, pining!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancastical/pseuds/fancastical
Summary: In which Deadpool has oddly specific and frustrating morals, Spider-Man has excellent friends, his lab partner has an opening for a bassist, Johnny Storm has the warmest feet, and everyone has had enough of hearing Peter talk about Wade Wilson (except Aunt May: she’s always glad to hear he’s back in town).Written for the Spideypool Big Bang 2017!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Think Andrew Garfield’s Spidey (seriously guys, not a fan of Homecoming, don't tell me if you're picturing Tom Holland, I don't wanna know lol), Michael B. Jordan's Johnny Storm, Kirsten Dunst's MJ, and I mean if you really want, Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool, though I was definitely picturing someone more the size of the comic book Deadpool.
> 
> In terms of continuity and canon: bring your grains of salt. I'm new to this fandom, and the amount of history involved is nuts. I'm cherry picking. Having said that, I probably put more work into making sure the memes weren't anachronistic. That probably says something about me as a person.
> 
> Thanks so much to my betas, [isaDanCurtisproduction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/), [Cliophilyra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/), and [123AKM456](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4594855/123AKM456) for the help hammering out some of the more stubborn sections, and thank you to the folks over at Spideypool Big Bang, who provided the deadline necessary to jumpstart my writing!
> 
> This is a long one, my guys. It's finished now, so enjoy! The links throughout the story are songs Peter 'wrote' about whatever given subject that's been mentioned. It's not the end of the world if you ignore them, but if you want a soundtrack (or to hear the songs Peter and his band 'wrote'), that's where you'll look. They just add a bit of depth to the story.

* * *

_[Two could be complete without the rest of the world,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)  
_ __  
[Oh, you know I said it just to get you to laugh.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

**Monday, September 24, 2011: 9:22 pm**

It started with the dress.

The froofy, lacy, _ridiculous_ dress that Deadpool had no business wearing when they were supposed to be dealing with a serious problem.

Peter rolled his eyes hard behind his mask.  “This is unbelievable.”

“Hey, I warned you,” Deadpool began, following Peter to the window now that Hit-Monkey had vanished (though Peter was going to have to take it easy for a week or two until the bullet wound healed. He blamed Deadpool, obviously).

“No, not the monkey part,” he replied. “You.”

Deadpool paused, fluffing his fingers into the folds of his skirts and glancing down at them. “Is it the dress?”

Peter sighed.

“Why are you wearing women’s clothing?”

Deadpool paused to consider the question, then offered, “Just because?”

“Is this like a Halloween test run or something?” Peter asked, glancing at him again, then quickly looking away. It was ridiculous. Totally unreasonable and unprofessional. So, right down Deadpool’s alley, basically, now that Peter thought about it.

“Nah,” Deadpool said, twirling to make his skirts flare out. He seemed pleased with them. Peter had to admit it looked good--

 Actually, you know what? No he didn’t. Didn’t matter at all what he thought about it.

“You’re in some kind of theatre thing?” he tried again, because there had to be _some_ explanation. Peter needed to know, now. Some stupid, obsessive part of his brain wasn’t going to let him stop thinking about it until he had an explanation.

“Nuh uh,” Deadpool said, clambering out the window after Peter. The assassin monkey thought Deadpool was dead, and obviously wasn’t after Peter. As far as he was concerned, the job was done. “Wanna go get tacos?”

“What?” Peter asked, watching Deadpool drop down to the ground. His skirts flew up around his chest as he fell and--

Well, he was wearing his suit underneath, obviously, Peter had already known that, but something about the sight still felt almost indecent, and-- 

“Tacos! It’s Taco Tuesday, Spidey, come on, I’m buying.”

“Uh, yeah, it's Monday, but whatever,” Peter agreed. Deadpool clapped his hands together once, then tugged at Peter’s arm to unstick him from where he was crouched on the wall, staring.

“Let’s go, baby boy! I know a great place not too far from here that’ll serve you your weight in tacos.” 

Peter let himself be dragged a ways down the street before he tried again. 

“Was it some kind of tactic?” 

Deadpool looked back at him, confused.

“What? You mean letting myself get shot?”

Peter huffed. “You didn’t _let_ yourself get shot, you just got shot.” He tugged his arm free of Deadpool’s grip and fell into step next to him. “The dress, I meant.”

“Oh! Nope.”

“Then....” Peter waited for Deadpool to explain himself, but all he did was start to flounce his skirts as he walked, as though remembering they were there.

“Just because,” he repeated, examining one of the holes where a bullet had torn the fabric, the eyes of his mask squinted with displeasure. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Gotta sew it up a little now, but it’s nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“It’s pretty,” Peter echoed. Deadpool nodded as though Peter had just agreed with him, leaving the hole alone and bouncing up to a hole-in-the-wall looking place.

“I’ll grab the grub: you just gotta wait here and look sexy,” he informed Peter. He opened the door, glanced back, and gave him a thumbs up. “Just like that, hot stuff, good goin’.”

Peter made a face at his back as he vanished through the door, well aware that he wouldn’t have seen it even if he’d looked.

He waited for a minute on the sidewalk outside the restaurant before it occurred to him that now would be a good time to leave. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d agreed to this little outing in the first place.

Deadpool wearing the dress because it made him feel pretty was... distracting. Did he have any other clothing that made him feel pretty? What if he wanted to feel something else? Did Deadpool ever want to feel ‘cute’? What would he wear then? Why would a man who was built the way he was ever want to feel ‘pretty’, anyway? Peter could understand wanting to feel ‘sexy’, for example, anyone could easily want that.

What would he wear then?

Abruptly, Peter cut that thought process off. He was going to leave now, wasn’t he? That was what he’d been thinking about just a second ago.

He could see Deadpool through the grimy windows, speaking with the young woman behind the counter. She was laughing as he spoke, and a moment later, he curtseyed.

Peter turned his back on the restaurant, crossing his arms and tapping one finger impatiently against his elbow. He didn’t seem to be leaving, though he knew reasonably that he should.

It was a free dinner, at least. Peter shouldn’t turn that down, that’d be dumb. Starving college student and all. And it’d be rude to just disappear. Aunt May had raised him better than that, hadn’t she? He wasn’t staying because of Deadpool in that stupid dress. He just shouldn’t put too much strain on his arm until it had a few hours to heal up. Patrol was out of the question for the rest of the night, for sure, and he didn’t feel like going home yet.

It wasn’t like the dress made Deadpool any more tolerable as a person. It was just tacos.

“Spidey! You’re still here!”

Peter turned back around as Deadpool burst back out into the street, holding two bags of food.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” he said, taking the bag that was thrust at him. He opened it up and looked inside. “Did you get any quesadillas?”

“You didn’t _ask_ for quesadillas, Spidey,” Deadpool said as he started walking. He sounded fondly exasperated. Peter followed, watching as he rooted around in his own bag and pulled a quesadilla out. “Gimme one of your burritos.”

“Uh...” Peter said, pulling out one of the warm, foil wrapped food objects at random. “Here.”

“Gracias,” Deadpool said as they exchanged. “I wrote a song about tortillas while I was in there, wanna hear it?”

Peter tucked his bag under one arm and unwrapped his food, bemused. “I’m gonna guess I don’t want to hear it, and that you’re about to sing it anyway.”

“Yep!” Deadpool glanced sideways at Peter, then added, “Actually, it’s more of a wrap.”

“That sounds much wo-- oh.” Peter, despite his propensity for puns, felt almost offended. “That was _awful_.”

Deadpool cackled gleefully. “I know! It was so--” 

“ _Cheesy,_ ” they said together, and Peter was mildly appalled at himself. He was not doing this. He was not getting friendly with _Deadpool_.

“Churro-k by me, Spidey,” Deadpool said, still chuckling to himself. Peter glanced sideways, and sure enough, he’d produced a churro from his bag of food.

“That was bad and you should feel bad,” Peter told him, rolling his mask up to his nose and taking an overlarge bite of his quesadilla.

“There’s a lotta things I should do,” Deadpool said. “But here I am, with no clean laundry and no regrets, either.”

Peter, who had no self control, laughed.

* * *

 **Friday, October 28, 2011: 11:20 am**  

“Pass me the next slide.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Peter, pass me that slide, _now_.”

Peter laughed and did as he was told. His lab partner, Steph, held out her hand without lifting her eyes from the microscope.

“Thanks,” she said after fixing it in place. “No sign of catalase. Seven-eight, um... eleven.”

Peter recorded the data in their lab report. They were both silent for a moment, while Peter prepared the next slide and Steph frowned into the microscope.

“What about... ‘Something something missed the bus, I’ll catch the next train...’”

Peter shook his head. “Doesn’t quite fit the beat. Maybe... [I missed the last bus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkS1TJcXUm4), I’ll catch the next train--”

“Take the next train,” Steph disagreed. “Nineteen by five, negative.”

Peter added that to the report, and on a separate sheet of paper, wrote the lyrics down. Steph was in a band, and over the course of the first half of the semester, she’d somehow gotten Peter to talk with her _and_ to be interested in the songs she was writing. It was a fun little diversion during an otherwise boring introductory class that he hadn’t been allowed to test out of. He’d taken six other classes that this was a prerequisite for before someone noticed that he’d managed to skip it. The distraction was welcome.

“So... I missed the last bus, I’ll take the next train, I try but you see, it’s hard to explain,” Peter sang, half under his breath. “I say the right thing, but act the wrong way, I like it right here, but I cannot stay..”

“That’s perfect,” Steph said, her smile wide as she looked over at Peter. “The guys wanna meet you, you know. Just drop by after class one day, I promise they don’t bite.”

Peter made a face. “I don’t think--”

“Come on, Peter, you’ve helped me come up with half the lyrics we’ve got right now,” Steph wheedled, practically batting her eyelashes at him. Peter averted his eyes to focus on his slides. “They’re just curious about you.”

“I know what this is,” Peter said as he handed over another slide. “I’ve seen this on 20/20. You’re trying to kidnap me and force me to become a groupie. You rock ’n’ roll types are bad news.”

“Not a groupie,” Steph corrected casually as she slid the old slide onto the tray. “We _do_ need a bass player, though.”

“Too bad I don’t play bass.”

“But you _could_ ,” she said, glancing at him. “I believe in you. You could become one of the cool kids.”

Peter snorted. “I think that ship has sailed.”

“But I’m offering you a life preserver, Petey!” Steph said, dramatically, in Peter’s opinion. She reached out and grabbed his arm, all without lifting her eyes from the microscope. “I’m offering you sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”

“Um,” Peter said, going a little pink. She looked up, caught his expression, and laughed at him. 

“Well, okay, maybe not the first two. Although I’m sure you could find somebody interested in helping you out.” She winked, and Peter flushed even darker. “But really, Peter, we just need someone to round the band out. It’s just fun. It won’t take over your life or anything. Just one, maybe two afternoons a week. There’s usually pizza.”

“Oh, well if there’s pizza,” Peter said, still somewhat flustered.

“That’s the spirit,” Steph said. “No sign of catalase. Two.”

“Just two?”

Steph squinted into the microscope. “Yep.”

“He’s dead, Jim.”

“Stop being such a nerd, Petey.”

“Pretty sure I get immunity from being called a nerd in a science classroom.”

“That sounds like the kind of bullshit a nerd would say.”

* * *

**Saturday, November 5, 2011: 11:54 pm**

“Come oooonnn, Spidey.”  
  
“Deadpool, no.” Peter said, rolling his eyes. He was carefully monitoring a group of men who were walking along the street below, being loud and jostling each other. Something about them sent his spider sense to pinging, and he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“I _know_ you had fun last time, and I’m buying!” Deadpool put his hands under his chin and curtseyed. Peter tried his hardest to ignore him and not picture what that move would’ve looked like in that dress from last time.

Peter didn’t understand how Deadpool had shown up _in a dress_ and managed to convince Peter to go out to eat with him, but he had done it. Mind control powers, maybe?

It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Deadpool. They had great banter, and he could mostly trust him to have his back on patrol since he’d started tagging along lately, even though Peter had so far never technically asked to come. He was a funny guy. Entertaining, usually. Attractive.

The point was, Deadpool was a mercenary, and though Peter could trust him to have his back, he couldn’t trust him to not kill anyone, and that alone kept him from relaxing completely around him. Certainly, it kept him from calling them _friends_.

“C’mon Spidey, free tapas!” Deadpool said, crouching down next to Peter to watch the group below. They were nearly level with Peter’s vantage point, now. He’d have to move soon to keep an eye on them. Deadpool started shaking his hips and singing in his low, gravelly voice, right next to Peter’s ear. “Tapa-tapa-tapa-tapa _tio_! Tapa-tapa-tapa-tapa--”

“Yes, fine, tapas, okay,” Peter said wanting more than anything to be allowed to _focus_. Logically, the way that Deadpool sounded and smelled, of leather, gunpowder, and musk, shouldn’t be impeding that. That should be a bad smell. Deadpool should probably shower more, right? That was Peter’s official opinion on the way Deadpool smelled. If anyone ever asked. Not that they would.

Deadpool, who had no idea about Peter’s internal crisis, squee’d in a much higher voice, happily allowing Peter to remind himself that Deadpool could be a very obnoxious person. Pretty often, in fact. So often that Peter was _not_ interested.

“We’re gonna crush this patrol, then we’re gonna _murd--_ I mean, bring some tapas to _justice_ , because we are sexy, law abiding individuals,” Deadpool said, hardly missing a beat at his slip. Peter grinned despite himself, grateful for the mask, and rose from his crouch to continue tailing the group below.

“Nice try, Pool,” Peter said, keeping his voice low even though there was no way the men below would hear him from six stories up. “We both know you’re more the Law Abiding Citizen type.”

“Hey, I _told_ ya, I’m turning over a new leaf,” Deadpool said earnestly, following Peter across the rooftops with impressive agility for someone without any particular superpowers aside from his healing factor. “Remember? Gone are the bloody maple leaves of my past! I cast them away, Spidey, for you and your evergreen needles of heroism!”

“You-- what? You didn’t say any of that,” Peter disagreed. He would’ve remembered that nonsense. He paused on their current rooftop and stopped when he clocked the group below again. “I said, ‘Don’t kill people in my city’, and you said, ‘No guarantees, but I’ll see what I can do.’”

“I’m seein’ about it right now, baby boy!” Deadpool insisted. “Look at me. Am I unaliving anybody?”

Peter glanced at him. “You mean you want credit because you aren’t currently in the middle of sawing someone’s head off?”

Deadpool fiddled with one of his pouches. “Well. When you put it _that_ way.”

“I’m gonna put it that way,” Peter confirmed, crossing his arms. Down below, the men had split into two groups, each going the opposite way down the intersection. Peter glanced between them, hesitating.

“I’ll take the northbound douchebags,” Deadpool said suddenly. Peter looked back up at him in surprise.

“I don’t--”

“Come on, Spidey, I’m not gonna kill anybody,” Deadpool wheedled. “I know you’re not still gonna wanna go out for tapas _or_ let me touch the booty if I do. I pinky promise.”

Peter chewed on his lip, staging a fierce internal debate. Did Deadpool care enough to actually follow through on his promise? Was Peter really about to risk the lives of four people on the off chance that Deadpool really _really_ wanted to go get tapas later?

“It’s not just later,” Peter finally said. “If you kill anyone on patrol, tonight or ever, Deadpool, we’re done.” He paused, then added, “And you’re not touching anything.”

To his credit, Deadpool only squirmed a little at the ultimatums before agreeing. “Fiiiinnneee,” he grumbled. “I gotcha, Spidey. _Neniu mortigo, ne tuŝi la ronda pugo._ ”

“If that all means ‘no killing’, then we’re on the same page,” Peter said, eyes narrowed slightly.

“We are! Readysetgo!” 

Without even a pause for breath, Deadpool leapt off the building. Peter hesitated, heard the clank of him landing on a fire escape, and took off in the other direction.

It turned out that his sense wasn’t wrong. Peter’s group had gone into a townhouse and dragged another, somewhat younger man out. He wasn’t sure if they were in rival gangs or if he’d done something to warrant their anger, but Peter wasn’t interested in asking questions after the first punch was thrown. He dropped down on them, landing in the middle of the circle they’d formed around their victim and forcing the group to take a collective step back.

“Four against one seems kinda uneven, don’t ya think?” he asked, putting up his fists and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet like a boxer. “Don’t worry fellas, I’m man enough for all of you.”

By the time he heard sirens nearing the scene, Peter had all four men bound together. The victim had run back inside, and Peter considered knocking on his door and trying to convince him to come out and speak to the police. Just being tied up with Spidey’s webs didn’t actually constitute a crime, and Peter wasn’t exactly on sparkling terms with the cops. If these guys didn’t already have a warrant out, they’d need the victim’s statement to get a conviction.

But then, Deadpool.

Peter hedged his bets by leaving a note webbed to the ringleader’s head with the victim’s address scribbled on it, then took off to try and track his patrol buddy down.

“Please don’t be covered in blood, please don’t be covered in _someone else’s_ blood,” Peter muttered to himself as he webbed back toward where he’d left Deadpool. “Just _do the right thing_ , you big idiot.”

When he found Deadpool, he was covered in blood. Peter felt a wave of disappointment wash over him until he realised how proud of himself Deadpool looked. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging hard.

“Where are they?” he asked, frowning.

“Well they _were_ sitting on the sidewalk before I realized what an eyesore they were, hangin’ out and bringing down the property values like whoa,” Deadpool said, leading the way toward an alley. “So then I put ‘em over here instead. You know they were gonna kill some guy for betraying their little club?”

Peter stepped cautiously into the alley, half-expecting dead bodies or at least some serious maiming. Instead, he found four men struggling furiously against their restraints, all of them looking even more pissed off at the sight of Spider-Man. Peter gave them a little wave.

“Looks like you guys had some fun together,” he commented, examining the group sitting the ground. None of them appeared to be seriously injured, though one of them had been restrained using what must be his own belt. Peter looked more closely at the others and found a length of clothesline restraining the second man. All of their shoelaces were tied together in tight knots to prevent them from running away, and the last two were wearing actual handcuffs, though one of them was fuzzy and pink.

“Are those--?” Peter asked, glancing back at Deadpool. He shrugged.

“I work with what I have to hand,” he said. “Y’know, just in case you suddenly get the urge to get into a little traditional bondage. Not that the webshooters aren’t totes up to the task, if ya know what I mean.”

“Well... nice job,” Peter said, still a little startled that things had gone fine and pointedly ignoring the innuendos. Then he remembered about the blood. “Did you get hurt?”

Deadpool paused. “I’m not used to havin’ to fight people who don’t stay down after I put 'em down,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. “I had to... rethink some of my usual strategies.”

Peter grinned at him. “Sounds like a good lesson. You can tell me about it over tapas.”

* * *

**Saturday, December 3, 2011: 1:31 pm**

 Steph hadn’t been lying about the pizza at least. After weeks of avoidance on Peter’s part, she’d managed to pin him down on a day to come meet her band. She brought him to a pretty nice townhouse in uptown where Jimmy lived with his parents, and led him down into the basement before he got much of a glimpse of the ritzy decor upstairs.

“Ms. Guinto let Jimmy soundproof the basement,” she said as she flicked on the light. Peter looked around at the set-up, the pizzas boxes she’d shoved at him clutched in his hands. “We have an extra bass you can use to practice on. Last guy left it.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. “He’s not gonna show up and want it back?”

“He’s welcome to try,” she said, scowling. “He put a hole in my bass drum, I’m keeping his fucking bass guitar.”

“Uh...” Steph noticed his startled expression and smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, everyone else is pretty chill. Hang on, I’ll go drag Jimmy outta bed.”

“He’s still in bed?” Peter asked. He set the pizzas on the coffee table near the banged up couch in the corner and carefully sat down. “It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, that’s Jimmy,” Steph said, already halfway up the stairs. She raised her voice to add, “He’s probably just jerking off. Don’t go anywhere!”

Peter grinned to himself. Either they were a couple or that guy was about to get the shock of his life. He opened one of the boxes and pulled out two slices, stacking them one on top of another and taking a bite. He was a growing man with a super metabolism. He was well prepared to take advantage of free food.

Halfway through his slice, the door at the top of the steps opened again and someone came charging down. Peter hastily swallowed the food in his mouth and sat up straighter.

The guy in question reached the bottom of the steps and dropped right down on the other side of the couch without looking bothered by the stranger in his midst. Peter looked at him, wondering if Jimmy and Steph had managed to miss each other on the stairs or something.

“Toss me a slice, man,” Probably-Jimmy said with a faint accent, kicking a foot up onto the table and relaxing. 

Peter handed one over. They ate their pizza in silence, and Peter took another for himself after he finished, unsure if he was supposed to be introducing himself or making small talk or what.

By the time the door to the basement opened again, he and Probably-Jimmy had finished three quarters of the first pizza box without uttering another word to each other, and Probably-Jimmy didn’t look like he thought it was awkward at all. In fact, rather than speaking now, he pointed at the top box and made a few hand gestures that Peter thought he understood. He picked the mostly empty box up and slid it under the others, presumably to hide that they’d been helping themselves.

“--just saying, you knew we were coming over...”

“Dick move, Steph.” This from the guy who had come down the stairs with Steph, which meant he must be Jimmy? Actual-Jimmy glared at Steph, then looked Peter up and down, ignoring Probably-Not-Jimmy. “This your guy?”

“Uh, we actually just met out on the street,” Peter said innocently, looking around at them all. “She told me she’d give me thirty bucks if I came with her. What are we doing?”

Jimmy and Not-Jimmy stared at him, then looked at Steph, who started laughing.

“Shut up, Peter,” she said, lifting the lid of the pizza and taking a slice. “And eat this, come on. I promised pizza, didn’t I?”

Peter glanced at Not-Jimmy, bit back a smile, and and took another double slice. Jimmy shook his head.

“Had me going there for a second,” he admitted, grabbing his own piece and dropping into an old armchair nearby. “I wouldn’t even be surprised, with this chick.” He took a bite, swallowed half of it, then said, “So you guys are in class together?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “And I’m just gonna state for the record that I don’t play any instruments, in case Steph didn’t tell you guys already.”

“We’ll teach you, don’t worry.” Not-Jimmy finally spoke, sounding unconcerned. “I mostly wanna hear you sing.”

“Sing?” Peter asked, startled. “I don’t sing.”

“I’ve heard you sing,” Steph said. “You can hold a tune better than Sergio can.”

“Yeah, he’s not great,” Jimmy agreed, wincing.

“Hey, fuck off,” said Not-Jimmy-Actually-Sergio, scowling. “I’m an excellent singer. I’m like a chorus of goddamn angels. I just don’t wanna be lead.”

“Nobody said anything about me singing,” Peter said, frowning at Steph and Jimmy, who was busy making mockingly reassuring gestures at Sergio.

“Sure they did.” Steph took a bite of her pizza, caught some cheese that had been about to fall off, and dropped it into her mouth. “Just now.” She looked up at Peter and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s just for fun, Peter. It’s no big deal. I promise these losers won’t judge you.”

“You can’t be worse than Sergio. His voice cracks on the high notes,” Jimmy agreed cheerfully, then had to leap up and dodge around the drumset to avoid Sergio, who was faster than he appeared at first glance.

“I’ll have you both killed and dumped in the Hudson if you break my drums again!” Steph shouted at them, though she remained relaxed in her chair. “Jackasses.”

* * *

 **Wednesday, December 28, 2011: 2:12 am** **  
**

Grabbing something to eat with Deadpool after patrol had become sort of a tradition by the end of the year. Peter was easier to convince than he knew he should be: if he hadn’t heard news of Deadpool _working_ in the city, and if he’d been helpful on patrol, he couldn’t really come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t accept free food and a little company. And the longer it went on, the more he came to appreciate the company, specifically.

It was nice, having someone there to fill the silence after patrol with a little levity. Peter’s life had been empty and too quiet in the past couple years. It was easy to talk to Deadpool, and even easier to let him drag Peter off on wild conversational tangents that got his mind off his own issues.

“For my New Year’s Resolution, I’ve decided to start going to the gym again,” Deadpool revealed.

Peter snorted a laugh. “Uh huh,” he said, taking another bite of his hot dog. He swallowed most of it before continuing with, “Yeah, you’re definitely getting a little flabby there. What is that, a beer belly?”

He gestured to Deadpool’s abs, which were unnecessarily well defined, if Peter did say so himself.

“What? How dare you?” Deadpool dropped his food and flexed his arms ostentatiously. “I’m not going to get in shape! These guns are almost as powerful and well oiled as the one in my pocket, baby boy.”

“Oh, ew,” Peter said, determined not to appear even a little amused.

“Even if they don’t get a workout as often--”

“Please stop.”

“They’re still _rock hard_ and--”

“Not as impressive as all the hype,” Peter interrupted, throwing the last bite of his hot dog at him.

“Oh, ouch, Spidey,” Deadpool said as the bun bounced off his head. “Fake laugh--”

“--hiding real pain, yeah, I know. Get a new joke.” Peter said, grinning now.

Deadpool paused, then fanned himself dramatically. “He thinks it’s a joke! Oh, my aching heart!”

Peter snorted, then laughed properly. “Deadpool--”

“Wade,” Deadpool said, cutting him off and pulling him up short. Peter just looked at him, still smiling absently as he processed what that might mean.

“Wade?” he repeated, nonplussed.

“Wade Winston Wilson,” Deadpool agreed, and only then did Peter twig that he’d been told a _name_. “But you can just, uh... call me Wade. If you want.”

“Oh,” Peter said, obscurely pleased. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Wade.” He took a long swig out of one of the water bottles that Deadpool had produced from a pouch when Peter commented that he was thirsty, and stopped when a thought struck him. “Why’re you going to the gym if you don’t want to get into shape?”

Deadpool perked up. “Picture it.” He gestured broadly, framing the scene with his hands. “All those people, crowding into gyms like they’re gonna be there in two more weeks, stealin’ all the good equipment and not cleanin’ up after themselves? Totally worth workin’ out in public. I’m gonna get my sass back into shape. It’s gonna be great.”

“That’s--” Really weird, Peter wanted to say. Imagining Deadpool doing something as ordinary as working out (which he must do; it wasn’t like the healing factor gave him free muscle) was... jarring. Knowing that he was only going to a gym to heckle made it a little easier to swallow. More believable, somehow. Like maybe this was an introduction to ‘Wade’ beyond just learning his name. “It sounds fun, actually. But here’s the real question.” 

“I’m all ears, baby boy.”

“If you don’t go in there before New Year’s, isn’t everyone else gonna think you’re just another Resolutioner?”

Deadpool (Wade?) squinted at Peter. “Yeah but--” He held up a finger, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Spidey...”

Peter grinned widely.

“Yes?”

Wade shook his head like a wet dog, then snapped his fingers with sudden excitement. “Who’m I kidding? That makes it _even better_!”

“It does?”

“Hell yes! I’m trollin’ the newbies with my words, but I’m trollin’ the gym rats with my _hypocrisy_ . Spidey, you just made this the best New Year’s _ever._ ”

“Glad I could help,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song Peter was helping Steph write at the beginning was ‘[Hard to Explain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkS1TJcXUm4)’ by the Strokes.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

[ _Do it for the people that have died for your sake,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _An entire generation that has nothing to say._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Sunday, January 1, 2012: 12:01 am**

Peter should have been out on patrol, on this of all nights. It was New Year’s Eve, a _Saturday_ , and he was certain he was missing out on quashing a lot of criminal activity.

Unfortunately, Spider-Man wouldn’t get very far with a broken wrist, so here he was, home alone as the clock ticked over.

Peter puttered around his apartment, at a loss for what to do. Classes hadn’t started back up again, so he didn’t even have school work to distract himself. Just an ache in his wrist as a reminder not to underestimate Doc Ock.

He picked up his new(ish) bass guitar with his uninjured hand and set it on his lap, plucking at the strings. They made a low, twangy sound that would translate better when plugged into an amp, Peter knew. He’d spent the last month or so getting used to the different chords and learning scales under Sergio’s suspect tutelage. Peter had never heard so many ‘fingering’ jokes in his life, and he regularly spent time with Deadpool these days.

The guitar he abandoned quickly as well, and he dismissed video games without bothering to try. Peter had never realized how many of his usual hobbies required the use of his right hand. Maybe he should put some effort into becoming ambidextrous. At least then he could waste the night getting himself off. His left hand wasn’t nearly as good at it as his right.

He thought about calling someone to distract himself that way, but everyone in his time zone was busy celebrating, and MJ was probably out partying on the west coast already, knowing her. No one wanted to sit there on the phone with someone who was too lame to come out with them, and Peter wasn’t old enough to go to the places Johnny was planning to be tonight.

He missed having someone closer to his age around, someone who would’ve been happy to sit on the phone with him. Someone who probably would’ve called or shown up at his door before Peter got a chance to ask.

But he shouldn’t think about that.

It was the New Year and he should be excited, planning all the things he was going to do in 2012 (assuming the world didn’t end, but if the world _did_ end, then Peter or someone he knew probably wasn’t doing their job right).

That’s what people did on New Years: they thought about the future. Set precedents.

Peter curled up on his futon and stared absently at the kitchenette in the other corner of the room. Maybe he should work on his web shooters. Find a way to make them safer, or more effective at catching things. Or people. Maybe he should work on his own reaction times, this year. Or his speed. Or on not putting the people around him in danger. Or--

Peter put his head in his uninjured hand and scrubbed hard at his face. He didn’t want this year to be like the last one. Last year was bad. He could probably sum it up by saying he’d spent a lot of time sitting alone in his apartment, feeling miserable.

Peter looked around his silent little room, emptiness gnawing at his gut, and made a decision. Never mind not being old enough to get into a bar, or his stupid, useless wrist. He wasn’t going to do this again for another year. He shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his keys, wallet, and coat, and left the blankness behind. He’d go find something to do that wasn’t... this.

And when he came back to his apartment much later that night with his wrist in worse shape than when he’d left, well... getting mugged in his neighborhood wasn’t unheard of, and at least it was something different to think about.

And he was Spider-Man, he’d be fine.

* * *

  **Friday, January 20, 2012: 7:03 pm**

Barely two weeks into the semester and Peter was already bogged down with work. He’d been stuck at the desk stuffed in the corner of his apartment for the past three hours, and he wasn’t going to be getting out for patrol until midnight, at least. He wondered if Wade would wait the extra hours for him to show up, or if he’d end up going it alone tonight.

His protein engineering class was a lot harder than he’d expected it to be from the course catalogue, but everything they were doing was fascinating. Unfortunately, the professor was exceptionally strict and wanted everything documented to within an inch of Peter’s life, so he was in process of writing a program that would use keywords to generate lab write ups based on the kind of experiments they were doing and the data he compiled.

A knock on his door startled Peter out of his work, and he pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes before getting up to see who it was.

“Hey man,” Johnny said when he opened the door. He came inside without waiting for an invitation and flopped down onto Peter’s futon. “How’s it going?”

Peter closed the door and went back to his desk chair. “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, gesturing vaguely at his laptop. “So far I have forty pages of assigned writing and a hundred pages of reading.”

“I _don’t_ miss that part of school,” Johnny said, kicking his shoes off. Peter realized suddenly that the room felt warmer, and smiled as he went back to his programming.

“It’s not the work that’s the problem,” Peter said absently, frowning as he picked apart a line of code to figure out where he’d gone wrong. “It’s the time. I need another two days in a week to get everything done.”

“Gotta have those time management skills, fam,” Johnny told him, shifting books and papers around on the coffee table until he found the remote and the Playstation controller. “Just take a good, hard look at your schedule and think, ’Do I really need to spend _that much time_ jerking off every day?”

Peter snorted and tossed a pen at Johnny’s head. He ducked it easily and started up Call of Duty.

“You mean three minutes is too long?” Peter asked, and went back to typing. “Not all of us can be as quick on the draw as you are, Storm.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, Parker. I can masturbate for up to _five_ minutes at a time.”

“Now you’re just being hedonistic.”

Their conversation lapsed into silence as they both focused on their respective screens, but eventually Peter finished the program and closed his computer, dropping his head down into his arms to rest on top.

“That bad?” Johnny asked, his tone absent.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get everything done this semester,” Peter admitted without lifting his head. “Fall was bad enough, and if I’m really gonna finish early I’ll have to take summer courses and--”

“You’ll manage it,” Johnny said, and the matter-of-fact confidence he spoke with only encouraged Peter a little. “You’re smart and shit, and you like keeping busy.”

“This might be too busy,” Peter said, frowning. “Maybe the band was a bad idea. If I drop that--”

“You can’t drop the band,” Johnny disagreed, glancing rapidly between him and the TV. “I came up with, like... pages of new material to mock you with ‘cause of that band.”

“I’ll bet,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. He picked up the first of his readings and trudged over to the futon to sit next to Johnny. “I dunno. Can’t you just pick on me for having been in a band for like three months?”

“It’s not the same,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “These jokes require careful comedic timing. You’ve gotta come back from practice and I’ll get to ask things like, ‘What’s wrong, Pete? Did your drummer explode again?”

Peter squinted over at him. “What?”

“Or when you’re trying to write a song,” Johnny continued, looking very pleased with himself. “I’ll say, ‘use D minor, Peter, I hear it’s the saddest of all keys.’”

“Uh huh,” Peter said dubiously.

“Or, oh man, if I ever get to meet your band friends, I’ll get say, ‘I’m such a fan of your music. I mean, not yours personally, but the whole genre of rock--”

“So what you’re saying is, you watched Spinal Tap,” Peter said, finally catching on. “And now you think you’re funny.”

“Turn that shit up to _eleven_ , white boy!” Johnny declared, firing on an opponent in the game as he spoke and successfully taking him out. “God damn, I’m good.”

“You’re something,” Peter said, rolling his eyes and settling in to read.

Johnny didn’t speak again until he’d finished the round, then dropped his controller and looked over at Peter more seriously. “Really, though, don’t quit. You were saying you wanted to have something that gets you out of this little sleeping cubicle that isn’t school or Spidey.”

“Yeah,” Peter said reluctantly.

“That’s the band, dumbass,” Johnny pointed out. “You already have it, it’s low stress, free pizza, gives you something else to think about when you _are_ at home... I can’t spend _all_ my time keeping you company, Parker, I’ve got shit to do.”

“I know, you drag me into it half the time,” Peter said, though he was thinking about what Johnny said, and Johnny clearly knew it. “You guys should really start calling it the Fantastic Five. I want credit. And a fancy blue suit.”

“I’m not gonna ask Reed to completely revamp our style ‘cause you’re on a diva rampage,” Johnny said dismissively, picking up his controller again. “How about we add an asterisk? ‘The Fantastic Four, asterisk’, then in really small writing somewhere: ‘and Spider-Man’.”

“This is friendship ending stuff, Johnny,” Peter told him, shoving at the blankets behind his back until he was more comfortable. “I’ll talk to Sue, she’ll see sense.”

Johnny smirked. “Good luck with that.”

“Maybe I’ll make my own super team,” he responded mulishly. “Upstage you losers with your rock and your little matchstick boy.”

“Watch it, daddy long legs.”

Peter laughed and folded down the page in his textbook. “Don’t tell Wade about that nickname. I don’t need him calling me that on patrol.”

“Deadpool and I don’t talk nearly as much as you’d think,” Johnny said, hunching his shoulders as his character was fired at onscreen. “We’re meme-quaintances. Colleagues of dank humor. We pass each other in the street and we plank, but we don’t make eye contact.”

“I believe that,” Peter said. “The other day, Wade said--”

“Here we go.”

Peter scowled. “No, shut up, it’s relevant.”

“Uh huh.”

“He _said_ ,” Peter repeated, raising his voice over Johnny’s deep sigh, “That he saw Thor at that M&M store in Times Square once and they both pretended they hadn’t seen each other.”

“What was he-- no,” Johnny cut himself off. “I don’t want to ask. I didn’t ask.”

“What do you _think_ he was doing?” Peter asked, rolling his eyes fondly. “Probably buying ten pounds of M &M’s.”

“Obviously,” Johnny agreed, also rolling his eyes. Peter suspected that Johnny didn’t find this story as amusing as Peter did. He didn’t mind.

“But then right after he told me that story, he figured out where the people we were tailing were headed and what they were doing, based on like, three seconds of conversation we overheard.” He looked back down at his book, pleased at the memory. “I think he might be a tactical genius or something.”

“The many facets of Deadpool,” Johnny agreed, going back to his video game.

“Exactly!” Peter said, textbook long forgotten. “Did you know that he--”

Johnny blew up a tank in his game and tolerantly half-listened while Peter explained how great Wade had been lately for possibly the third time. This week. It was just good, okay? It was nice that Peter could ask someone to kill less people and destroy less property, and have them actually listen to him for once.

And he was fun. Johnny should appreciate how funny Wade was, if nothing else. He should enjoy these stories as much as Peter enjoyed telling them, dammit.

* * *

**Friday, February 17, 2012: 12:35 am**

“-and I personally think that there’s only ONE DIRECTION they can take their musical careers, Spidey. Get it? Do you get--”

“Yeah, I get it, Wade,” Peter said, shaking his head. They were tucked away on a well-shielded rooftop after a long night of patrol, a bag of TexMex between them. “You should be ashamed of how bad that was.” He stuffed half a taco in his mouth, then had another thought and added, not entirely intelligibly, “And if you’re about to bring up the Spice Girls agai--”

“Spice World was a masterpiece!” Wade sat up from where he was slouched against the air conditioning unit and pointed an emphatic finger at Peter’s face. Peter rolled his eyes, making sure to exaggerate the movement with his whole head so Wade could really understand how dumb he was.

“Shut up, Spidey, it was,” he insisted. “Who _doesn’t_ want to watch five fabulous ladies and-- dare I say, feminist icons??-- running around defusing bombs and talkin’ shit and meta-commentating all over the place and against ALL odds, making it to Albert Hall _just in time for the big concert_?!”

“Because obviously you’re making this about feminism,” Peter agreed, grinning to himself.

"I am! Just my point of view, baby boy, but I think it'd be good for ladies if more dudes were doing lady stuff without bein’ embarrassed about it."

"You're just saying that cause you wanna wear that maid outfit and be like Iggy Pop-"

"Iggy Pop!" Wade shrieked, falling onto his back. "The man himself!"

That set Wade off on a tangent about glam rock which Peter tuned into only casually, while trying to remember exactly how Wade's dress had clung to his well-defined chest. His attention was caught again when Wade unexpectedly wound back around to his original point.

"-which is why 1D- heh, I bet there's a lot more than ONE D between those dudes- oughta do a Spice World," he said. Peter finished his last taco and leaned back on his elbows next to where Wade was still flat on his back, legs swinging over the side of the roof.

"You just wanna bang Zayn Malik, admit it," Peter accused. "Or at least have a better idea of what he'd look like half naked so you can picture it."

"Nah, Spidey, that ain't my game." Wade waved a hand dismissively.

Peter scoffed. Loudly. "Lies," he said, tucking one arm behind his head. "I've heard you talk about guys before. AND celebrities. AND musicians."

Peter tended to listen for that kind of thing. Counted on it, even, considering the stake he had in where Wade's interests lay. Because he’d decided he had a stake. Admitted. Whatever Johnny wanted to call it, Peter didn’t care.

"Nope, totes serious over here," Wade said, and there was that certain ring to his voice that told Peter that he meant it, however much he was probably about to make a dick joke. "I'm not into kids."

Peter frowned. He narrowed his eyes and turned his full attention to Wade, almost scowling. "He's not a kid," he pointed out. "He's twenty years old." He was Peter's age, in other words, which was why Peter was currently doing his best to keep a handle on his trepidation.

"And I'm thirty, Spidey." Wade sounded horribly, casually, heart-breakingly serious about this one. Peter rolled his mask down and pushed himself up to sit cross legged and watch Wade while he spoke, just in case there was some cue in his body language that might hint at a joke. "That's too young for me. I'd feel like a dirty old pervert."

"But... people older than you date people younger than that all the time," Peter said, aware that he was grasping at straws, and even more aware that he had no real excuse for poking at this at all. "Nobody thinks it’s weird."

"Oh, it's weird," Wade assured him, wrinkling his nose under the mask. "People oughta be more grossed out by that kinda creep than they are."

"But if they're over eighteen--"

"Legally, sure, whatevs," Wade said. "But you gotta draw a line somewhere, for basic decency."

"Oh yeah?" Peter asked, his heart plummeting to somewhere in the region of his stomach. "Where's the line? What's Relationship Guru Deadpool call decent?"

"Half your age plus seven."

"Half your-- Wade, that's ridiculous," Peter exclaimed. "You can't just use-- what even is that, frat boy logic?"

"Frat boys don't need math, Spidey," Wade said, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them around. "They gotta stick to eighteen or over, with full consent.  Seventeen's still too young for a twenty year old Brony. In fact, anything less than a fully consenting adult horse isn't gonna cut it there. Do you think those ponies are adults? I dunno, man. On the one hand, if they're not, where are their parents while they're getting into all those shenanigans? But I mean, Spongebob's an adult. There's a whole episode where he's getting his driver's license, Spidey, have you seen that one? And y'know, I'm pretty sure Finn's a kid, but Jake's totally an adult doggo, and so's Princess Bubblegum. 'Cept she's not a dog. But I'm tellin' ya, she and Marceline would be an uh-mazeballs power couple, can you picture it? Just picture it."

"I'm picturing it," Peter agreed, his voice a little hollow. Wade continued enthusiastically on this new and exciting tangent.

By his math, Wade was currently unwilling to date anyone younger than twenty two.  Peter was off by two years. Just two more years, and he wouldn’t trip Wade's pervometer.

* * *

**Friday, February 17, 2012: 02:14 am**

"Why the hell does he even HAVE a pervometer?" Peter groaned, covering his face with his hands. "What the hell?"

"Y'know, I bet if the Avengers heard about this it'd make them like him a whole lot better," Johnny pointed out philosophically from the couch.

"They'd only like him better ‘cause they think I'm sixteen," Peter pointed out.

"Dude, you're obviously older than sixteen. Anyone with google knows you've been around a while, and the Avengers don't think you started hero-ing at twelve."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Peter grumbled. He was flopped down on his stomach on the limited floor space of his apartment, watching Johnny kill zombies on the 36 inch widescreen haphazardly mounted on the wall. It'd been a birthday present from the Human Torch himself so he'd have something to do while heating Peter's shitty apartment for him in the winter when his radiator inevitably broke. At the thought, he shifted closer to the couch to soak up more of the warmth radiating out from Johnny's legs.

"I'm just saying," Peter started again, after about ten minutes of comfortable silence. "He has all kinds of weird kinks, doesn't he? He's the last person I'd think would care about an age difference."

"Eeeeehhh," Johnny said, making a face that said, 'I disagree but I'm busy'. Peter sighed and waited with limited patience for him to finish with the wave of snarling, fire-breathing dogs. Finally: "Crystal made me go with her to this BDSM club one time, back before-- you know."

"...yeah?" Peter asked, sliding his arm out for the guitar that sat on a stand nearby and pulling it onto his chest. He tried out a few chords, then looked up again. "And?"

"Kinksters are freaks," Johnny said, glancing quickly between Peter and the screen. "But they're like... crazy serious about consent and shit."

Peter frowned. Wade had mentioned that idea more than once. "Yeah, okay. But eighteen is the age of consent. He thinks twenty is too young for him. And by his stupid rule, _I’m_ too young for him til I’m twenty four."

"How'd it... hang on, shit--" Johnny paused the game and scratched his head. "I ended up talking to this guy in the line for the bathroom who was wearing all leather and like vinyl and just-- never mind, it was fuckin' weird. But he said something basically like when you're gonna do a bunch of crazy shit to somebody else for fun, you gotta have a few hard lines you don't cross to keep everybody safe and happy."

"So what, like... One of Wade's lines is this half and seven bullshit?" Peter twanged his guitar, then winced at the sound that came out and pressed his palm to the strings to silence it.

"I dunno, I guess." Johnny started up the video game again. "You're the Deadpool Whisperer, not me."

Peter felt a familiar sinking feeling. Johnny was saying things that, if Peter was being honest with himself, fit with what Wade had said. Which meant...

"He won't even look at me til I'm twenty four, then," he groaned, letting his guitar slide to the ground and covering his face again. "Twenty four, Johnny!"

"Miiiiight wanna think about some other options, my man," Johnny suggested.

Peter groaned and rolled back over onto his stomach to bury his head in his arms. After a little while, Johnny nudged him with a warm, socked toe and said, "What do you want on your sympathy pizza?"

"Pineapple," Peter grumbled.

"Yeah, I'm not feelin' that sympathetic," Johnny said. He ordered extra mushrooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't like math:
> 
> Wade is thirty. Half of that is fifteen, plus seven is twenty two, which is why Peter said he had to be two years older, since he's currently only twenty. 
> 
> But Peter won't be old enough until he's twenty four (Wade will be thirty four, half of that is seventeen, plus seven is twenty four).


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

[ _How to make_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _your way to me_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

**Wednesday, May 2, 2012: 6:50 pm**

Peter vacillated wildly over the next few months between giving up on Wade entirely, and entertaining nonsensical thoughts of waiting for him like some kind of preteen with a promise ring. It was incredibly frustrating.

Wade didn’t make it any easier to decide, either. If Peter was on patrol and Wade was in town, odds were good that he’d show up, show off that fast-talking mouth of his, and help Peter take down a few bank robbers. His humor and comforting presence at Peter’s back put a notch firmly in the ‘listen to Taylor Swift and pine for the next three and a half years’ column.

And then Wade would go radio silent for six weeks, and Peter would spend the entire month of April wondering how many people he’d killed since they last saw each other, who was paying him to do it, and how it was possible that he could have let himself become so romantically interested in someone who just _didn’t care_ about the kind of morality Peter’s life was built around.

Fortunately, Peter was busy enough that he was able to, mostly, ignore this angst and pour his concentration into the things he loved, like his classes, being Spider-Man, and recently, the nifty little built-in social life that came with ostensibly being in a band.

“Parker, we aren’t gonna get any gigs when you can’t find your rhythm.”

“Crap, sorry.” Peter frowned down at his bass and shook out one hand. “Got distracted.”

His spider sense warned him just in time to duck the drumstick that was chucked his way. “Peter, if you’re singing _and_ doing bass, you can’t be distracted.”

“Yeah, about that,” Peter said, frowning. “I still don’t get why I’m singing. Sergio’s not that bad, I’ve heard him.”

“If you think he’s not that bad, you haven’t heard enough,” Jimmy said, guts deep in an amplifier, too busy scowling at the various wires to bother to look up. He placidly ignored Sergio’s suggestion that he fuck off. “And the lead singer can’t be the keyboardist or the drummer, that’s dumb as shit.”

“And you’ve got a good voice, good range,” Steph added, producing a new set of drumsticks from thin air.  “You’re not getting out of it. From the top, ready?”

She went back to helping Peter practice. Sergio occasionally chipped in some advice, but he was focusing on figuring out the rest of his guitar piece. He’d already decided how the bass went for this song, which was fortunate as it gave Peter more time to work it out.

There was something here in this band that Peter had never had before, and he suspected it had something to do with not really having a clue what he was doing. He’d always been excellent in school, and it set him apart. As Spider-Man, too, he was pretty isolated. He wasn’t exactly the best superhero around, but it wasn’t like the Avengers had much to say to him, or wanted to hang out and drop superhero tips. (Peter would’ve died, but that wasn’t the point.)

There was a camaraderie in learning with the rest of the band. Jimmy might’ve been playing piano since he was four, but Sergio had only picked up the guitar a couple years ago. Steph learned the drums in middle school, but she was still learning how to play something that wasn’t a marching band beat. They sucked together, and it was fun. (Even if Peter was unquestionably the worst. He didn’t even mind.)

It gave Peter something he didn’t have in his classes, and would probably never find as Spider-Man. All the other supers were so professional. Even Wade and Johnny were wildly competent despite all the screwing around they did. Peter sometimes felt out of his depth, thrust into a position he could never have achieved without the bite that gave him his powers.

He knew he had to duck before he realized he’d fallen off beat again.

“Peter I swear to _god,_ pay attention!"

* * *

**Saturday, May 19, 2012: 1:45 am**

“[Oh no you didn’t](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEbE3fGfF-o), oh no you didn’t, oh no you didn’t--”

“Wade?” Peter said, doubling back toward the alley he’d just passed. He dropped onto the roof above and looked down.

There he was. Deadpool, in all his powerful, weaponized glory, swirling his hands around and dancing on his toes as he sang to a man cowering in the corner of the alley.

“Till I get my vengeance, I will never end this mayhem! Oh no you didn’t!” Wade sang. Peter stared. Wade didn’t have any weapons out, but that could change quickly. What was he doing? “I’m a mercenary, you ain’t got a prayer you owe meeeee! Oh no you didn’t!”

The man looked terrified, and started to speak, but Wade ignored him entirely, executing a graceful little twirl.

“Oh no you didn’t, oh no you didn’t, oh no you didn’t, oh no you didn’t... didn’t you -- _oh no_ \-- you didn’t pay me what you ooooweeee meeee, so now it’s over for you!”

“Wade!”

“Papapapapapapa-- oh, hey baby boy!” Wade looked up in time to watch Peter drop down between him and the man at the end of the alley.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Um, musical theatre?” Wade said, hiding his hands behind his back like Peter hadn’t seen the knife there already. When they came back out, it was gone. Peter moved straight through to crossing his arms.

“Where’ve you been?” Peter asked, switching tactics as he glanced over his shoulder at the man behind him. The alley was a dead end; he wasn’t going anywhere.

“In my defense, I was only gonna rough him up a little,” Wade said, gesturing past Peter and ignoring his most recent question. “That song just speaks to me, Spidey. It understands who I am as a person.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said. He tapped his foot. “So you weren’t about to exact vengeance on some hapless criminal?”

Wade hesitated. “...not vengeance of the unaliving variety? And he’s not exactly hapless. Dude’s a real piece of work. He blew up a bus full of-- well, don’t worry about who or what was on the bus.”

“Sure,” Peter said, frowning. “So where’ve you been? Are you wrapping up whatever you were doing right now, with this guy?“

“Nah, this has nothing to do with all that,” Wade said, pulling out the knife again and twirling it between his fingers. “I just saw him across a crowded street, and I thought to myself, ‘Yellow, isn’t that the guy we saw blowin’ up that bus and-- ya know, doin’ a bunch of other naughty business that one time?”

Peter scowled, but Wade was getting into his story now, and used the knife to sketch odd shapes in the air to illustrate his words.

“So then White thought that it was like that coffee shop they turned into a movie! Ya know, what was it? Serenity? Heiroglyphery? Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

“Serendipity?“ Peter asked, against his better judgement. His crossed arms loosened a bit as Wade grinned through his mask and pointed the knife at him.

“Exactly! So then I’m like, it’s meant to be! I gotta follow this hombre and nail him good! Like a citizen’s arrest but more bow-chica-wow-wow! Real sexy, ya know?”

“That’s a distressing mental image,” Peter said, starting to smile even though he wanted to continue being stern and unimpressed. “You really weren’t going to kill him?”

“Totally wasn’t. Cross my heart and... whatevs.” Wade shrugged, stuffing the knife away again. “You get the idea.”

“Okay,” Peter found himself replying, his stance relaxing further. “So then, really Wade, where’d you go?”

“Oh, ya know,” Wade said, waving a hand vaguely. “Here and there. There and here.”

“Wade,” Peter began, frowning, but he was interrupted.

“Hang on, Spidey-babe. We gotta deal with my criminal _du jour_ before we get our flirt on.”

“We’re not--”

Before Peter could figure out how he wanted to finish that sentence, Wade drew his gun and fired over Peter’s shoulder.

Peter’s eyes flew wide and his shoulders hunched. “What the hell!” he yelled, horrified. He spun around to find the man sprawled out, still and limp, a small gun in his hand.

“You _just_ finished telling me you weren’t going to kill him!” Peter shouted, rounding on Wade, who didn’t look nearly as bothered as he should.

“He pulled that thing outta his boot,” Wade said. “Definitely didn’t see that comin’. So, I mean, you’re welcome for not letting him shoot ya, Spidey. An’ anyway--”

Peter glared, furious now. That man-- and who knew how many others over the past six weeks?  Wade had no business lecturing anyone on decency! Peter called bullshit on the whole farce!

“I can’t believe you!” he snapped, interrupting whatever Wade was about to say and flinging his arm back to gesture at the man. “Is this what a promise means to you, Deadpool? Why don’t you ever _think_ about the consequences of what you’re doing?! He was a real person! With a family and people who care about him! You can’t just-- you’re a-”

“Spidey--” Wade started.

“No, De--”

“SPIDEY” Wade said, louder. “Do you see any blood?”

“Wh-!” Peter paused, quite ready to say a whole hell of a lot more on the subject of Wade’s many failures, and thrown by the interruption. “What?”

“Blood,” Wade repeated, pointing at his victim. Peter turned around and looked. That was something he’d missed in his anger. He stood there and stared at the (now obviously) unconscious man as Wade continued. “That was a tranq, baby boy. Got rubber bullets too. Picked ‘em up while I was gone.”

Peter continued to stare, trying to parse out what that might mean. After a long moment of silence, Wade continued. “I’m gonna give you that freak out, coz you didn’t know, and coz it’s Taco Tuesday.”

“It’s Saturday,” Peter said faintly, but he turned back around and looked at Wade, sapped of his righteous fury and just feeling confused. “When’d you decide to get rubber bullets?”

“On Taco Tuesday,” Wade said with a cheerful little hop. “Better get this thug all wrapped up, Spidey! I’m payin’.”

Peter bound the man’s wrists and ankles, called the cops on the phone he found in his pocket, and followed Wade out of the alley, all the while internally going around in circles.

Tranqs and rubber bullets. Which meant-- it meant Wade hadn’t been planning on killing anyone at all tonight, just like he’d said. And of course, he never killed people on their patrols together. Peter had made it clear a long time ago that he wouldn’t allow it, and Wade had always respected the rule.

Given that, Wade would’ve been within his rights to be offended at Peter’s reaction. Peter, knowing the things he had been ready to say to Wade, was a little offended at himself.

Wade chattered away cheerfully as they ate, but Peter was quieter than usual. Now that Wade was back, who was Peter to assume where he’d gone or what he’d done? Maybe he’d killed people, maybe he hadn’t. Peter didn’t know, and Wade wasn’t going to tell him, that much seemed obvious with how many times he’d avoided the question.

“Something a lot of people don’t remember with a vertical seam reverse stockinette is that it can’t be too tight or you’ll get a pucker,” Wade was explaining when Peter tuned back into their conversation. Peter, who had been paying not a bit of attention, took a moment to wonder what on earth he’d missed. “I like the kitchener myself. Feels cleaner. More of an even weave, ya know?”

“Are you-- talking about sewing?” Peter asked, baffled.

“What? Of course not, Spidey. I’m talking about knitting.” Wade used his taco to draw out the shape of his words as he continued. “I was makin’ this sweater, got a really cool flame stitch going along the back. Some decent colorwork in there too. Kinda proud of myself, tee-bee-aitch. I was thinkin’ of givin’ it to Weasel if it works out. Get him to shut up about the C4 in his bathtub already.”

“Oh,” Peter said, thinking that he should be used to Wade surprising him by now. “Oh!” he exclaimed as he had an epiphany, crumpling up his empty food wrapper and throwing it at Wade. “You _made_ that Spider-Man hat you were wearing last winter!”

Wade froze, caught out. “I didn’t _mean_ it when I said--”

“You said you found it on Etsy and you couldn’t resist!” Peter exclaimed. “You said you had no idea what kind of nutjob would waste their time knitting such a dumb joke onto a _hat_ !” He paused and covered his face with one hand. “Oh my god, I should’ve _known._ ”

“I mean, I guess when you put it _that_ way,” Wade said, hunching his shoulders as Peter picked up the rest of their trash and pelted him with each individual piece, one at a time.

“Is that your ninth leg or are you just happy to see me?” Peter recited, his tone full of accusation as he remembered the anatomically incorrect and frankly distressing spider on Wade’s winter hat. He pulled off one of his gloves when he was out of trash and smacked him lightly over the head with it as he unrepentantly burst into giggles. Peter huffed. “It was awful! You should be ashamed!”

“So ashamed,” Wade agreed, still snickering. “Should’ve worked in a spider eggs pun somehow. Maybe for the gloves this yea-ow!”

Peter had elbowed him hard in the side, which didn’t really deter Wade as planned.  It did allow Peter to end up sitting much closer than he had been, though.

“Maybe... how do you like your spider eggs?” Wade elbowed back, and though Peter knew exactly where this was going, the physical contact kept him from doing much outside of rolling his eyes and grinning. Wade turned his head dramatically and declared, “Fertilized?!”

Peter groaned and shoved at Wade, hard enough to tip him back off the ledge and onto the gravel of the roof behind them, where he lay and cackled and declared things like, “Sunny side up? Deviled? Oh wait, no! Spidey, you stay away from that bad, bad man. If you’re gonna do the nasty with a gritty antihero in a red catsuit, I’ve got first dibs!”

“I don’t know if Daredevil counts as an antihero,” Peter said dubiously.

“Still. Dibs.”

“Whatever you say, Wade,” Peter said, his tone a touch sarcastic as he thought back to Wade’s dumb rule. He didn’t even realize it applied to Spider-Man. And if he ever did, Peter had a sneaking suspicion that he’d stop flirting altogether.

He tipped back onto the roof next to Wade and stared up into the dark, empty sky, feeling suddenly melancholy. Three years was a stupidly long time.

Maybe he really ought to look into that ‘getting over it’ thing Johnny kept mentioning. At least, he could try to stop talking about it, which was Johnny’s second bit of advice. Having a little crush was great and all, but the smart thing to do really would be to let it go.

Wade seemed to sense the shift in mood and fell silent as well, until he clearly could hold back no longer.

“Something wrong, Spider-babe?”

Peter heaved a silent, somewhat grumpy sigh. “Nothing I really want to get into,” he admitted.

After a long pause, Wade said, “If you really do wanna slap kittens with the Daringest of Devils, I’m not gonna stop ya.”

Peter made a very small sound of disgust. “That doesn’t even mean anything. Except it’s somehow still gross.”

“You have my blessing to get as gross as you wanna,” Wade assured him, thrusting his hips up toward the sky in demonstration. “Rock that caspah like a slab of hot beef.”

“Ugh, no, what? Please stop,” Peter said, crossing his forearms over his eyes. “I will leave you here all alone if you say one more word. I definitely have no interest in Daredevil.”

Peter could _feel_ Wade opening his mouth, hesitating, then saying, “Then the dibs on dat ass recommences.”

“Whatever you say,” Peter agreed, frowning.

* * *

**Sunday, May 27, 2012: 5:02 pm**

When Peter thought back on that night later, mostly what he felt was the sting of guilt and embarrassment that he had been so prepared to leap down Wade’s throat without a second thought. He’d had a lot of _mean_ things lined up in his head, ready to be spat out at his unsuspecting friend.

Because that’s what Wade was. That was all, but it still mattered. He was more than just the guy Peter patrolled with and really, really wanted to see naked. He was also one of Peter’s closest friends, for all that they’d never seen each other’s entire faces.

He tried to put it out of his mind, and had a moderate amount of success until he finally got around to visiting his Aunt May, two weeks later.

“Peter Parker,” she exclaimed upon opening the door. “You _do_ still live in New York!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt May,” Peter said, ducking his head in shame as she pulled him inside and shut the door.

“When did I last see you?” she asked, giving him a long hug. She pulled back and held him by the shoulders, looking him over. “Why, you must have grown six inches!”

Peter rolled his eyes, going a little red. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Oh, and I see you can just about grow facial hair now, dear,” she continued blithely, taking his chin and turning it from side to side, ignoring his sputtering. “I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it once was, how long has it been? Five years? Six?”

“It’s been a month!” Peter said, laughing. “I thought _I_ was the melodramatic one.”

“Where do you think you learned it, Peter?” she asked, beaming back at him and turning to lead the way to the kitchen. “Your uncle, god rest his soul, was far too practical. Now come in here and chop up these potatoes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter replied, still smiling. While they worked, she regaled him with the gossip from her Pinochle group and the hospital. By the time he’d finished seasoning the potatoes, she was in full swing.

“-and when I asked what everyone was so upset about, it turned out that Janice--”

“That Janice,” Peter contributed. “What a card.” Aunt May smacked him on the arm with a wooden ladle.

“You let me finish, Peter,” she ordered, amused. “ _Janice_ had told all the new nurses that Dr. Feldman ‘confiscated’ the extra samples, and you can bet that she heavily implied that they weren’t for medical use, if you understand my meaning--”

Peter’s face contorted with horror. “Aunt May, _do_ I understand your meaning? Please tell me I don’t.”

Aunt May laughed gaily at Peter’s expression. “I think we both know you do, Peter.” She took the potatoes from his limp grasp and spread them evenly around the roast in the pan, then popped the whole thing into the oven while he made various disgusted expressions. Dr. Feldman had been his doctor when he was little! He’d taken samples from Peter before!

‘Obviously, she was lying,“ Aunt May finally continued, sparing Peter from his continued agony. “But until anybody bothered to ask someone _sensible_ , all the new girls were guarding their patients _very carefully_. The poor doctor couldn’t get near anything that wasn’t a chart or a stethoscope for three days.”

Peter snorted with laughter and sat down next to Aunt May at the table with inexpressible relief. “Why would she-- who just makes up things like that?” he asked, and Aunt May shrugged, lifting her palms.

“That Janice,” she said, and Peter laughed again.

“What a card,” Peter offered, and they both snickered. “But let’s stop talking about her. I’m never going to be able to look at Dr. Feldman the same way again.”

“You’re not the only one,” Aunt May said. “Now, tell me about what’s going on in your life, Peter. I’m sick and tired of finding out about what you’re up to from the news.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt May,” Peter said again, contrite. He hadn’t meant to go this long without seeing her, but his life was hectic. Between work, school, practice, and Spider-Man, he barely had time to sleep, let alone make social calls. “They’re still making me sing, if you were wondering.”

“I didn’t think you’d get out of it,” she replied, beaming. “You do have a lovely voice, Peter.”

He grinned, embarrassed and pleased, and shrugged. “I think I’m a little better with the bass, too. Steph hasn’t thrown anything at me in a couple weeks.”

“That is progress,” Aunt May agreed solemnly. “And how are your classes?”

They talked for a long time, eventually moving into the living room so Peter could explain exactly what he’d been doing as Spider-Man last week that had gotten him filmed while running along the side of the Chrysler building with no apparent foe.

“I was trying to get more speed,” Peter explained, gesturing largely with his hands to demonstrate. “There was a-- he’s called Vulture, he’s one of those--”

“One of your villains,” Aunt May prompted, her expression only vaguely disapproving.

“Well, not _mine_ , but yeah, and he was up at the top of another building nearby, trying to set off this dirty bomb, so I--”

“Oh goodness, tell me the ending,” Aunt May demanded. It was a rule of theirs, that he wouldn’t leave her in too much suspense if she asked.

“Uh-- I mean, he didn’t,” Peter said, shrugging. “He went down pretty quickly, actually. I had him paying attention to me, so Wade had time to sneak up behind him and disarm him. And the bomb. So it was fine.”

“Oh, good,” she said, visibly relaxing. “It’s always a relief to hear that he’s back in town.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, his mouth lifted in half a grin as he thought to himself that he and Aunt May might be the only people in New York who looked forward to when Deadpool returned. Then, reminded again of the way he’d acted to welcome Wade back to the city, he wilted somewhat and dropped back down into his chair.

Aunt May watched him for a quiet second, then prompted, “What did you do?”

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced up through his fringe guiltily. She raised her eyebrows, and Peter found himself confessing everything that had happened that night, including the things he hadn’t said.

“I just feel like a complete jerk,” he said, once he’d explained. Aunt May nodded slowly, not agreeing so much as listening. It made it easier for him to just let the words fall out of his mouth without worrying what they were. “He’s been trying. I _know_ he has, but somehow I’m always ready to think the worst of him.”

“That’s not how you talk about him to me,” Aunt May said gently. Peter nodded, pressing his palms against his eyes. “It sounds to me like you like him quite a lot.”

“I really do,” Peter agreed without elaboration. He definitely didn’t want to get into that right now. “But I’m not sure if I-- I mean, I do, obviously I trust him with my life, but...” A hollow ache blossomed in his chest as he searched for words.

“There are a lot of secrets between the two of you,” Aunt May pointed out. Peter nodded, shoulders slumped.

“I don’t even know as much about him as I do about Sergio, not really,” he said in a low voice. This was not a realization he wanted to be having about Wade Wilson, of all people. “And, I mean... I’m not going to, either, am I?”

Aunt May frowned a little. “You can always ask him, dear.”

Peter shook his head. “I already know his name. That’s more than he knows about me. And he’s not gonna just-- spill all his secrets. Not without some kind of reciprocity. He’s just not like that. He shouldn’t have to be.”

“I thought the two of you were rather close,” Aunt May said, standing up to go check on their food. Peter hesitated, then followed her into the kitchen to watch her poke at the roast.

“We are,” Peter said, though part of him knew that wasn’t true. “We... for supers, we are, I think. For us. Or at least, for me. I don’t know about him...”

And that was half the problem. Peter just didn’t know a lot about Wade, outside of his preferred fighting styles and favorite foods. He knew _what_ to expect of Wade a decent amount of the time, but he had no idea _why._

Peter had managed to go from outright dislike of Deadpool, to wariness, all the way through to admiration and, if he were honest with himself, a pretty serious infatuation, all without ever learning much more about Wade than the canned Tragic Origin Story and little snippets here and there, some of which he’d discovered through other channels.

“It sounds to me like all this comes down to one thing, Peter,” Aunt May said, as she put on her oven mitts and heaved the roasting dish out onto the cutting board, where it sat and steamed while she and Peter gathered plates and cutlery. “Would you show him your face?”

“My face?” Peter repeated, stopping to look at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone’s going to have to take the first step in establishing real trust between the two of you,” she said, taking the plates out of his hands and setting them on the table. “And that someone is you. Sit down, dear.”

Peter sat obediently, still a little stunned at the idea. Could he do it? Show Wade his face? Would Wade even want to see it?

Aunt May served up dinner and tactfully changed the subject to lighter things, and the rest of his visit avoided the topic of Spider-Man et al altogether.

By the time they had packed up a huge tupperware’s worth of leftovers and Peter had been walked to the door, it was getting dark.

“Now you be careful on your way home,“ she said, kissing Peter on the cheek. “And you had better visit again soon.”

“Yes, Aunt May,” Peter replied dutifully, clutching his tupperware. He did still feel a little guilty about his month long absence, which was what prompted him to offer, “Next Sunday afternoon?”

“That sounds just perfect,” Aunt May agreed, with a twinkle in her eye that Peter didn’t spot until it was too late. “Every Sunday afternoon would be simply wonderful, dear!”

Peter’s eyebrows lifted. “Every-- wait--”

“You’ve made an old woman so happy,” Aunt May continued over his bluster, nearly shoving him toward the open door now. “I’ll feel so much better knowing you’ve had at least one home cooked meal every week, and you know you’re welcome to bring your laundry if you don’t want to pay for the laundromat. I know how busy you are these days!”

“Aunt M--”

“Go on now, sweetie, you don’t want to be late to catch the bus!” Peter found himself out on the front stoop in the cold a second later, the door closing firmly with one last call of, “I’ll see you next Sunday!“

Peter stared at the wooden door, half a foot from his face, and scowled. She knew perfectly well he wasn’t going to take the bus.

As he turned and walked down to the street, he shook his head ruefully and pulled out his phone to open up the calendar app.

Every Sunday afternoon. If he really did bring his laundry, he might even be able to do it, Spider-Man related incidents aside.

* * *

**Wednesday, July 18, 2012: 7:13 pm**

It was July, and Peter now knew how to confidently play the bassline of fifteen different covers and six original songs written by their as-yet-unnamed little group. He could even keep on beat while singing, which was a feat of coordination he secretly hadn’t expected to ever master.

Sergio, whose singing voice wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone made it out to be, wanted them to start looking for gigs.

“I just think it’s about time we put ourselves out there,” he said, sitting on the stool at Steph’s drum set and thumping an irregular beat while he plucked out an odd little tune that Peter was trying to place as either System of a Down or Queen. It seemed to meander between the two.

“I’m not actually interested in getting booed off stage just yet,” Jimmy disagreed. He crashed a cymbal with a spare drumstick, and Steph caught it, glaring at them both.

“Some of us are actually trying to work here,” she said, looking pointedly at Sergio’s foot, which stilled. She had dismantled two of her snare drums and was fiddling with something inside (or maybe on the side of them) which Peter knew nothing about. It looked finicky, though. He stayed well out of the way with his guitar, perched on top of an amplifier next to the keyboard.

“Yeah, rude,” Peter agreed. Jimmy looked up at him, and he twisted one of his tuning pegs slightly, grinning.

“Shut up, Peter,” Sergio called, not bothering to even look as he stepped around the drumset to help Steph with whatever it was she was doing.

“I was just sitting here, minding my own business--” Peter sniffed.

“And working,” Jimmy supplied. Peter nodded.

“--and working,” he added, “Very hard. Slaving over these mad beatz.”

“I heard that ‘z’. You’re fired, Peter,” Steph said. Without looking, she held up a hand, and Sergio high fived her.

Peter huffed and sprawled out as best he could in his current position. “This is unfair. Jimmy used a ‘z’ last week and you didn’t fire him.”

“I was talking about zebras,” Jimmy said absently. He was scrolling facebook, from what Peter could tell. “Or... zoo. Zeroes.”

“Zero zebras at the zoo,” Peter supplied. “You mean when all those animals escaped from the Central Park Zoo last week.”

“Exactly,” Jimmy agreed. Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Sergio cut him off.

“Good try, Peter,” he said, “But we’ve gotta talk about this, guys! We either gotta start playing in front of more than just Jimmy’s little sisters and my mom, or admit this thing is going nowhere.”

“Weeeeeellllll,” Jimmy said, and didn’t duck as quickly as Peter usually did to dodge the errant drumstick flying in his direction. “Ow, shit! What the fuck, man?”

“Sergio’s right,” Steph said, getting up to retrieve her drumstick. The snares were back in one piece again, and she started resetting a moment later. “If we’re not at least gonna try and keep moving forward, I’ve got better things to do with my Wednesday afternoons.”

A long silence ensued, during which Jimmy put down his phone and started chewing on his thumbnail, and Peter found himself tapping out a staccato beat on his knee. ‘Moving forward’ would mean, like Sergio had said, getting gigs. Playing in public. Worse than that, it meant more of Peter’s precious spare time would sink into this project.

But... he’d looked into it. It’d be Friday and Saturday nights. Sometimes. Maybe a Thursday night occasionally. As long as it wasn’t every week, he could probably do it. Barring Spider-Man related incidents, of course, and... well. He didn’t usually even start patrolling on weekends until after midnight... but he didn’t want to let the band down by not being there when he was supposed to be...

“Fine, I’m in,” Jimmy said, letting out a huge, gusty breath. “But if we get booed off stage, you guys are buying the first three rounds after.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, _pichafloja_ ,” Sergio muttered. Jimmy narrowed his eyes. He raised his voice a little. “I said, yes, we’ll do it.”

With that, all three of them looked at Peter. He went a little wide eyed and started chewing on the inside of his lip.

“Come on, Peter,” Steph said, sitting down on her stool. “We can’t do it without you now.”

He sighed and slid off the amp and onto the ground, where he leaned against it instead. “We’ll have to wait until next month,” he said, rubbing at his forehead. Sergio and Steph cheered and high fived again.

“No problem!” Sergio declared, leaping up and grabbing his guitar. “I’ll start looking for gigs. Why next month?”

“I figured we’d probably be playing in bars and stuff,” Peter said, shrugging. “I’ll be twenty one next month.”

“Awww our baby’s gonna be all grown up!” Jimmy teased, grinning at him. “You gonna let us take you out Petey?”

Peter rolled his eyes. He was so, so sick of being the youngest person in every group he was in. “I’m not really a big drinker,” he said half-heartedly.

“That’s cause it’s illegal and you’re a good boy,” Steph said, her eyes laughing even as she kept her face serious. “But next month we’ll make you a man.”

“Oooh, Steph, how’re you gonna make him a man?” Sergio asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Well, first we’ll take him out and get him drunk,” Steph said suggestively. “And then we’ll make him read from the Torah until his balls drop.”

“You guys are jerks,” Peter said, ducking his head and hiding behind his guitar to disguise his red face as they all roared with laughter.

“Come on, Petey, we’re just havin’ fun,” Jimmy cajoled, poking him with a foot. “Get up here, let’s start from the top of ‘[Under Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkEA2BJOhxo)’.”

* * *

**Monday, July 30, 2012: 1:16 pm**

Peter heard about the invasion after one of the other students in one of his summer classes started playing the live coverage on his phone. The Avengers were already on the case, which was why Peter felt comfortable waiting the fifteen minutes until class was over to suit up and swing by.

They were still right in the middle of the battle when he arrived. It was a bunch of odd, hairy little aliens with big teeth and sharp claws. He arrived in time to web one of the furry little guys and send it crashing into Hulk’s back, away from the civilians trapped inside a taxi.

Once he helped them to safety, he rushed back to the battle, webbing another of the creatures to a lamp post. Captain America darted past, and Peter waved.

“Hey guys!” he shouted cheerfully, as Iron Man rocketed off in the other direction. He swung over to where a group of the aliens were menacing an abandoned hot dog cart. “What is this, science experiment gone wrong, or the most adorable alien invasion ever?”

One of Peter’s adorable aliens took a big bite out of the hot dog cart, then whipped it at his head, faster than he would’ve expected. Peter ducked, then snagged the debris and let it fall harmlessly to the ground.

“Whosa good boy?” he asked, webbing all four of the creatures together in a writhing, angry mass of teeth and fur. “That’s right, you are!”

He worked on securing the street he was on, trapping the creatures in the road or against walls when he could. He spotted Black Widow at an intersection, and darted into earshot, grabbing an alien that had been about to launch itself at her and tossing it into the air. An arrow flew from somewhere above them and skewered it. Peter winced.

“What’s up with the tribbles?” he called out to her.

“Invasive species,” she responded, succinct as always. She deftly sliced and fired her way through six more creatures as she spoke. “This is an extermination job, Spider-Man.”

“How’d they get here?” he asked. He had parked himself about two stories up the side of a building, and was carefully webbing each creature into an immobile ball as he spotted them. Black Widow occasionally fired into the webbing after he’d secured them, which Peter would’ve objected to if the cute little guys weren’t menacing Midtown.

“We suspect Loki’s involvement.”

“Ah,” Peter said. “But, well, this doesn’t seem _too_ bad...”

“This is the fourth wave,” Black Widow said. She glanced over her shoulder, and Peter followed her gaze to see that the area he’d already cleared was now _crawling_ with even more creatures. “Make that the fifth.”

“They really _are_ tribbles!” Peter exclaimed, delighted. He glanced at Black Widow, who was coming close to being overwhelmed by the most recent batch. “You need a better vantage point?”

She looked around, her movements sharp and efficient, then jerked her chin at a stone awning. “That’ll do just fine.”

She held up a hand, and Peter webbed her wrist, taking off and pulling her with him. He deposited her neatly on the awning, and she produced another gun and continued firing as though the pause had never occurred.

“I’ll just be over here if you need anything!” he called, swinging away. Black Widow was honestly kind of his favorite Avenger, and not just because of the spider thing. She had moves. Peter occasionally tried to copy those moves, and they were harder than they looked, even with his extra strength and flexibility.

The fresh wave of tribbles was a bigger disaster than Peter wanted to admit. Was it so wrong to be this excited about them? Because he was. Even though they were trickling away from their origin point and causing problems for civilians on the outskirts of the battle. Peter took it upon himself to start rounding up the stragglers, shooing away civilians, and creating a thick net of webbing across certain intersections to contain them. He used the stronger, longer lasting webbing he’d been fiddling with lately, and it seemed to be holding up.

Iron Man spotted him at it after he’d made something like a ten block diameter half circle around the thickest of the tribbles, and shouted, “Good job, kid!”

Peter, who was not a kid, thanks very much, gave him a thumbs up anyway and went back to work.

What he was _trying_ to do was to narrow the radius of his web trap until he had the tribbles contained to a more reasonable five blocks, but the way they were appearing wasn’t entirely obvious to him just yet, and he wasn’t quite ready to risk them popping up outside his safety net.

After he used up half his webbing on a big sticky fence between the tribbles and the rest of the city, he dropped down onto the roof next to Hawkeye. Clint gave him a glance, tapped something on his earpiece (presumably so that he could hear whatever Spider-Man wanted to say to him), and then went back to shooting. It was clear that he must’ve gone down at least twice already to retrieve arrows. They were all kinds of sticky and gross.

“Do we know where they’re coming from?” he asked. “And, be honest. Can I keep one if I’m reeeally careful with it? Just one of the little ones?”

“Invasive species, Spider-Man,” Hawkeye said, smirking. “So no. As far as I can tell, it’s thickest around Bryant Park.”

“Gotcha,” Peter said, taking off again. Bryant Park was containable. Maybe by the time he got his net finished, whoever was dealing with Loki would’ve solved the problem. He still had to get to the Bugle in an hour to drop off some photos and beg for an advance.

When he was nearly done, he realized there was a teenage boy stuck in a tree with a bunch of tribbles working together to reach him. Peter webbed them all into a useless bundle and carried the kid to safety before coming back to find that the tribbles were not thrilled with his containment plan, and were banding together to test the limits of his webbing.

“Is that gonna hold?” he asked himself. Then he shrugged and resolved to check on it again soon. He took off and made another trip around his containment area, pleased to see that he could close off a few blocks already. The methodical neatness required to ensure that none of the tribbles escaped his webs appealed to him on some level, and he returned to Hawkeye after he finished his circuit, handing over a decent stack of arrows.

“Thanks. You’re making a mess out there,” Hawkeye said, grinning at him.

“You’re welcome,” Peter said, for both parts. He took off again and found Captain America defending a group of three civilians.

“You’ve put a real wrench in our evacuation plans, Spider-Man,” he called.

“My bad!” Peter said, landing next to the group. He webbed a few tribbles to a wall and said, “C’mon everybody, hop on.”

He managed to carry all three of the civilians to safety at once, which impressed the particularly big guy hanging onto his back. He kept shouting, “How much do you lift? You’re so tiny, dude!”

Peter was not tiny, in fact. This guy was bigger than Wade, even, and was probably on ‘roids to keep it that way. Peter had acceptably broad shoulders and a perfectly functional amount of muscle definition for a superhero, thank you.

It took everything in Peter to let him leave without making a joke about how _he_ at least didn’t skip leg day, but he got back to the fight in time to see a section of his webbing at Bryant Park fail against the sheer enormity of the clashing claws and gnashing teeth working against it.

There were a lot of tribbles in that park.

Peter set himself to re-containing their massive numbers, grateful for the evenly spaced trees surrounding the park, while several of the Avengers showed up to deal with the creatures themselves.

“Nice work, Spider-Man,” Black Widow said, appearing behind him and firing into the alien horde. “We’ve got them contained, now.”

“I really appreciate the positive feedback!” Peter replied, raising his voice as he dodged around, still finishing off the second layer of webbing. “You’re like my spider-hero! Do you think that you could sign my web shooters after this is all over? Oh my god, do you think Captain America would, too?”

Black Widow raised an eyebrow. Peter finished with the net and flipped back down to stand near Hawkeye. Falcon and Iron Man were in the air nearby, firing on the rest of the tribbles.

“She’s right,” he said to Hawkeye. “I’ve gotta play it cool. And make him sign something I don’t use everyday. Like... hang on...”

He dug through his nearly empty pockets, got a look at his phone, and froze.

“Ooohhh no,” he said to himself, tucking his phone away. “Uh, hey,” he called, in general. “You guys can handle it from here, right?”

He didn’t get an immediate response from anyone, but that was probably more of a yes than a no, wasn’t it? “Cool cool,” he said, backing away and giving them all two thumbs up. “Well, I gotta run. It was an honor working with you!”

He was very late to the Bugle. Jameson fired him for it, then rehired him for long enough to buy the photos he brought with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by [Mercenaries 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEbE3fGfF-o)
> 
> This is the song Wade was singing while going after that rando. It's called 'Oh No You Didn't'. I think it really ought to be his theme song.
> 
> Also, Under Control (the song the band was practicing) is by the Strokes.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

[ _Oh, let’s say you made a deal with me,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _And I got your name, and your home address_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Thursday, August 2, 2012: 1:37 pm**

Peter tried, and failed, to get out of his birthday bar-hop. Steph bothered him in their shared classes and again during breaks until he finally broke down and told her the day was August 17th.

"Peter, that's a Friday night!" she exclaimed, tapping a few buttons on her phone. Peter suspected she was informing the troops. "That's a sign, you know it is. We're doing this."

After that, there was no escape. Sergio and Jimmy were equally as enthusiastic about the plan, each sharing stories about their own twenty firsts, every one worse than the last.

"If you guys let me puke on anyone, I will quit this band and, in fact, leave the country," Peter told them.

"Quit being such a spoilsport," Steph told him. "You're sweet and hot, and it'll be your twenty first. You could puke on a bouncer and he'd probably just roll his eyes and call you a cab."

Peter pretended his face wasn't burning red after that comment and focused on his fretboard while Jimmy laughed at him.

The night of his birthday, after a quiet dinner with Aunt May during which Peter griped and she told him to be responsible and mostly laughed at him, the band met up downtown, and Sergio examined Peter's clothing with a critical eye.

"What?" Peter asked, half hoping he'd have to go home and change. He was unaccountably nervous about all this, but even Johnny had just laughed at him and told him to keep his secrets to himself and he'd be fine.

"You'll do," Sergio pronounced, and Peter huffed to himself and followed as they all started walking. "Let's go!"

"Happy birthday, Pete," Jimmy said, falling into step next to him and bumping their shoulders together. Peter half-smiled and shoved back a little.

"Thanks," he said. "Just... seriously, as a birthday present to me--"

"No puking on anybody," Jimmy agreed, and grinned at him. "I promise."

* * *

**Friday, August 17, 2012: 9:18 pm**

The first club they went to was loud, and got Peter's hackles up almost immediately. Or, at least, his spider sense went a little haywire. He wasn't sensing that something was wrong, so much as catching so many low level _intentions_ from so many different people that it was difficult to parse exactly what was going on.

The drink Steph shoved into his hands smelled stronger than what he'd tried in the past, and they all clinked their glasses together and downed them in one go. It tasted awful, though it dampened the buzzing at the base of his skull, just a little.

Not enough, though, and that became a problem after three more, when Sergio was gesticulating wildly, Steph had vanished into the pulsing crowd, and Peter was still barely tipsy.

"Thought you'd be dancing on the bar by now!" Jimmy shouted in his ear, over the music. "You gotta get drunk, Petey, you're gonna lose me twenty bucks!"

"I'm not dancing on any bars," Peter laughed, and Jimmy just handed Peter his own drink and disappeared to get himself another.

Peter watched him head toward the bartender idly, until his spider sense suddenly _did_ twinge, more sharply than before. He was already at the bar before he realized his feet were moving, approaching a girl who'd been flirting cheerfully with the guy next to her.

"Hey!" he said, loudly. The girl glanced at him, frowned, and turned away. "Hey! He just put something in your drink!"

He pointed, not at the guy she was talking to, but the one at the bar on her other side.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. The two guys were glaring at him, so Peter spoke up, scowling right back.

"I said he put something in your drink!" he shouted, and her jaw dropped.

"Oh my god, are you serious?" she demanded, looking between the three of them. "You're joking, right?"

Peter shook his head, keeping an eye on the other two, who looked like they were about ready to break him in half right there.

"Hey, man, mind your own--"

"Pete, what's goin' on?" Jimmy asked, appearing at his elbow. Sergio, having also spotted the altercation, showed up a second later.

Peter explained, and Jimmy vanished to go get the bouncer. One of the guys tried to get up and leave, but Peter stepped into his path, furious. He got shoved for his effort, and shoved back, easily putting the guy right back on his stool.

By the time he stopped looking so surprised at Peter's strength, the bouncer had shown up and, after the girl explained, dragged the two of them off.

Sergio slung an arm over Peter's shoulder and led him away from the bar, Jimmy following and still looking angry. "Jesus, Pete, how the hell'd you get involved in that?"

"I saw him putting something in her drink so I went over and told her," Peter said, shrugging uncomfortably. He was also still angry about what he'd seen and a little worried about his friends asking too many questions.

Steph spotted them from the dance floor and pushed through the crowd to join them in the booth they'd managed to snag. She made them all tell her the whole story twice before declaring Peter a hero and buying another round of shots.

The shots definitely relaxed everyone but Peter, and the night continued unabated. Peter pulled out his phone and lingered in the contacts section for a moment before texting Johnny about what had happened, with a little bit of 'I told you so' thrown in for good measure.

Not that he wasn't happy to have helped that girl, but the drinking and the relaxing and all that? It seemed pretty obvious that wasn't for him. 

The only response he got from Johnny was a flame emoji, which wasn't particularly helpful. He put his phone away and pretended he wasn't sulking when Steph or Jimmy found him, and it wasn't ten minutes later that a commotion at the entrance to the club had everyone staring and pointing. Peter glanced that way too, and immediately groaned and sank further into his seat in the booth.

"Dammit, Johnny," he said, when his friend found him and slid into the booth next to him, grinning widely. "Did you have to wear the suit and everything?"

"Gotta make an entrance," he replied, still beaming around at all the people staring at them. Steph and Sergio, who were still sitting across from Peter, were also staring.

"So, when were you gonna mention you know the Human Torch, Petey?" Jimmy asked when he returned, carrying drinks.

"Yeah, Petey, you sayin' you don't brag about knowing me and Spidey?" Johnny winked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, imagine not wanting to be associated with _you_ ," Peter responded, and Johnny laughed.

"Spider-Man, too?" Steph gasped, leaning forward. "What the hell, Peter?"

"He's our unofficial official photographer," Johnny said, miming holding up a camera and snapping a picture. "Especially Spidey's. All those pics in the papers are Pete's work."

"Holy shit, _cabr_ ó _n_ , that is so cool," Sergio breathed, leaning forward and taking a drink. 

"Peter told me you guys were celebrating his boozing birthday, so I thought I'd come join in," Johnny said, before Peter could stop him. "You guys mind?"

Nobody minded. Not even Peter, after Johnny dragged him out of the booth and up to the bar.

"It's your birthday Peter, you're gonna have fun. You see something, I'll take care of it, got it?"

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, where his spider sense was still pinging little low level non-warnings all over the place. Johnny's offer sounded pretty great, actually. "Yeah, man. Thanks."

Johnny caught the bartender's attention with minimal effort. "I'll take a shot of fireball and a super-shot," he called. Peter frowned.

"What's a super-shot?"

"Lot of supers can't get drunk like your average dude," Johnny explained, speaking close to Peter's ear so he wouldn't be overheard. "Some mutants have the same problem. Obviously some of us are still lightweights, but I'm guessing you're having trouble. We'll swap drinks until you're having a little more fun."

Johnny paid and took the drinks, waiting until they were halfway back to the table to hand the stronger one to Peter. The alcohol in it made his eyes water before he even lifted it to his mouth.

"Come on, Peter, down the hatch," Johnny said, and they both knocked back the liquor right as they reached the table. Steph cheered for them, and Peter blinked. That wasn't so much the gentle nudges of the last few drinks as a kick in the face. "There ya go, buddy!" Johnny slapped him on the back and asked Steph to dance. Her face glowed as they disappeared into the crowd, and Peter dropped into the spot she'd vacated, still blinking. Jimmy nudged him.

"Petey, you startin' to feel it?"

Peter nodded, a smile growing around the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah!" Jimmy pushed him out of the booth and dragged him out onto the dance floor, and Peter was a lot more inclined now to laugh and go along with it than he had been. It wasn't just the super-shot; he could see Steph and Johnny dancing from where they were, and he knew Johnny would keep his word about making sure nothing went wrong. He wouldn't let Peter make an ass of himself, either. He could relax.

* * *

  **Saturday, August 18, 2012: 2:54 am**

They went to three more clubs, and each and every one of them had Johnny's super-shots. Peter had never felt so loose and happy in his life, and didn't puke on anything. Toward the end of the night, he and Johnny were sat, shoulder to shoulder against a wall while Sergio and Steph tried to negotiate what kind of tacos they all should get. Jimmy was getting cash out of a nearby ATM, and Peter was talking about Wade.

"He said this was a... med'um quality taco 'stablishment," he told Johnny, who laughed.

"The taco truck?"

"Yeah, with the..." Peter reached up and twiddled with his invisible mustache, miming what was painted on the side of the truck. Johnny just laughed again.

"He knows all th’ good places in town," he continued. "We eat so many tacos. I love tacos."

"I bet you do," Johnny agreed.

"I love 'em," Peter repeated. "An'... knitting."

"You love knitting?" Johnny asked dubiously. Peter shook his head, then paused to collect his thoughts.

"Wade knits," he explained.

"Ah, and you love all things Wade-related."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, tipping his head back to look up at the streetlights. They were fuzzier than usual.

"Hopeless," Johnny said, but Peter didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant, because a second later the warmth at his side was gone. Peter realized after a bit that Johnny had gone to help the others figure out the food, and pulled out his phone while he waited.

Inevitably, it seemed, he was staring at his text conversation with Wade.

 _-Happy birthday!!_ he sent, then sat, absurdly pleased with himself, and watched Jimmy walk back over to the ATM. A reply came almost immediately.

**_-not my bday baby boi but thx!!_ **

****Peter frowned. That wasn't the idea.

 _-no its my bday_ _  
_

After that, the messages came almost too rapidly to follow.

 **_-omg whaaat?!?_ ** ****_  
_ **_-Happy birthday Spidey!!!!_ ** ****_  
_ **_-u havin fun? ;)_ ** ****_  
_ **_-course ur havin fun!_ ** ****_  
_ **_-what're you doin texting me??_ ** **  
**

Peter grinned to himself and replied.

 _-i lke u_ _  
_

**_-awwww bbyboy I like you too!_ ** **_  
_ **

After a bit of struggle, Peter managed to lock that message so it wouldn't ever delete. In the meantime, he'd gotten more messages.

 **_-so how old ru now?_ ** ****_  
_ **_-totes don't have to tell me!_ ** ****_  
_ **_-super curious tho_ ** **  
**

Peter, after very little thought on the matter, decided that Aunt May had been totally right, like always. All the secrecy between him and Wade caused nothing but problems. He didn't want it anymore, and he'd been stupid, thinking he wasn't ready to show Wade his face. He should be more open.  
  
_-shsring is carnig rite?_  
_-its my booze bday_  
_-we should trade pics!_

Peter opened the camera on his phone, and was trying to get his face in frame without his thumb blocking the lens when someone plucked it right out of his hand.

"Whaaaadaya doin, Petey?" Johnny asked. He glanced at Peter's phone and blanched, quickly tapping the screen a few times before sliding it into his own pocket. "Wow, okay, bad choices. Bad choices, Pete!"

"No, no I changed m'mind," Peter said, making grabby hands that were summarily ignored by his friend. "I wanna tell 'im."

"Then tell him tomorrow, man," Johnny said, putting a taco in Peter's hand instead of his phone. "It's my best friend birthday duty to keep you from doing dumb shit, right?"

"Mhm," Peter said, mouth already full of taco. It tasted amazing.

Distracted, he missed Johnny running a hand down his own face and muttering, "Jesus."

* * *

  **Saturday,** **August 18, 2012: 12:46 pm**

The next morning, Peter's hangover was _severe_. He groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his head with a pillow and vowing never to leave, even though the way his own breath smelled was making him feel more than a little nauseated.

After a while, he realized that there was a warm leg under one of his own, and deduced that he wasn't alone in his bed. He froze, not quite daring to look and see who he'd brought home.

"S'jus' me, go back to sleep," a voice muttered. Peter, after a moment of confusion, identified the voice as Johnny's and relaxed.

"My meninges hurt," he whimpered, and Johnny snorted. The sound was awful.

"Get outta here with your science bullshit at ass o'clock in the morning," he grumbled. "I told you t'drink more water, but you thought you were too good for me and my blockhead. Not like I've ever been hungover before, nope, no 'sperience with it at all."

"Just shut up," Peter mumbled back, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to calm the pounding in his head.

Johnny heaved a big, loud sigh, then pulled himself out of the bed and came back a minute later with a big glass of water and a bottle of Advil.

"Come on, down the hatch," he said, and Peter had a faint memory of him saying that last night, in a very different context.

"You're a bad friend," he said, drinking half the water in one go.

"I am an _amazing_ friend," Johnny replied, offended. "And you're _welcome_."

Peter, who knew Johnny was right, just swallowed a handful of pills and drank more water.

“Your band friends are pretty cool,” Johnny said after a while, having sprawled out on the bed again.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, still not totally up to conversation. Johnny peered at him, then smirked.

“How much do you even remember, Pete?”

Peter hesitated. “First two clubs, for sure. It’s kinda spotty after that.”

“It’ll come back to ya,” Johnny said, waving a dismissive hand. “I hear you guys are gonna start performing soon?” 

“Sergio tell you that?”

“Yep. Do you remember deciding on a band name?”

Peter looked up, probably more sharply than he should have, and winced. They’d been going back and forth on name ideas for almost as long as they’d been playing together. “No,” he said, suspicious. “Did we?”

“Yep,” Johnny said, looking far too pleased with himself. Peter waited.

“And?”

“Would you believe ‘Johnny and the Storms’?”

Peter got up, whapping Johnny with a pillow as he went. “No.”

“Hey--” Johnny grabbed the pillow and threw it back, missing as Peter dodged toward the bathroom to go brush his teeth. He thought he might feel a lot better after that. “The Oncoming Storm? Stormageddon?”

“Dark Lord of All?” Peter called back, shaking his head as he looked in the bathroom mirror. He could hear Johnny getting up and wandering into the kitchen area. “We’re not a death metal band, or a Doctor Who tribute band, so...”

“Picture both, though. Like, in the same band. Oh man, that’d be sweet.”

Peter put the cap back on his toothpaste and started brushing, wondering if Johnny would spill if he waited long enough.

“You guys debated each of those options _very_ seriously last night,” Johnny said, poking his head around the doorframe. Peter rolled his eyes even though it kind of hurt a little, and spat out some toothpaste.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” he said, then started brushing his tongue. His mouth was still gross, he could _feel_ it. “Dib I tho ub?”

“Not til we got back here,” Johnny said, correctly interpreting his question. “In the toilet. It was all pretty civilized.”

Peter nodded, then finished rinsing out his mouth and put his toothbrush away. He stuck his head in the sink and drank what felt like another half gallon of water, then straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks. So, what’s the name?”

“You guys arrrreeee....” Johnny started a drumroll on the door frame and Peter held up a hand desperately, the other covering one ear.

“Stop, stop! Why!?”

“Fiiine,” he said, dropping his hands and grinning a little bit too big, the jackass. “You’re called Curious Liars.”

Peter considered it. “We really agreed on that?” Johnny nodded and turned around to head back into the main room of Peter’s tiny apartment. Peter followed, still thoughtful. “It’s not terrible.”

“Sounds like a real band name and everything,” Johnny agreed. “Good for you guys.”

Peter started to smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”

* * *

  **Sunday, August 19, 2012: 8:52 pm**

For his birthday, Mary Jane sent him a bluetooth headset. He hadn’t been sure exactly what she was getting at until he called her to ask about it.

“I figured if I found a way for you to multitask being Spider-Man and talking to me, I might actually _hear_ from you occasionally,” she explained, then laughed at him as he stumbled through an apology. “Now put it on and get out there, tiger. Take it for a test drive.”

It turned out that if he wore it under his mask, most of the static from the wind was pretty well abated, and they could, in fact, talk while he patrolled.

“And...”

“You were right,” Peter said, smiling since she couldn’t see him. “It’s a great present, thank you, MJ.”

“You’re very welcome, Peter,” MJ responded primly. “Now tell me what’s going on with you. I feel like we haven’t talked since Christmas.”

Peter spared a quick second for some mental math and realized she might actually be right about that.

“Have I told you about the band?” he asked, and she hummed thoughtfully.

“I do remember hearing about the pretty brunette in your class and something about music, but nothing about a band.”

“Uh yeah,” Peter said sheepishly. “So, I’m in a band now. With Steph.”

“The pretty brunette?” Mary Jane confirmed.

“Yeah, and Sergio and Jimmy. They’re not as pretty. Well, Sergio’s actually not bad looking, but they’re not my type.”

“Shame,” MJ said. “Are you guys terrible? What do you play?”

“I play bass,” Peter said, gliding through a long stretch of skyscrapers on Fifth Avenue. He hesitated, then added, “And I sing.”

“Like, lead?” she sounded both dubious and impressed. He could hear chatter in the background on her end, when the wind in his ears didn’t drown out everything but her voice.

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Peter, you couldn’t have emailed me or something?” MJ’s exasperation came through pretty clearly, and Peter made a series of chagrined and sheepish faces as she continued speaking. “Just one email a month, even, just so I know you’re not dead or possessed by an alien or a hipster or whatever.” She paused. “I’d love to see you guys, though. Send me a video!”

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” Peter said, grimacing. Maybe he’d be more comfortable with that after they’d done a few shows, but right now he was pretty sure MJ would end up laughing herself sick over anything he sent.

“I can tell I’m gonna  have to push that one,” she said. “And I will. But how about you tell me how everything else is going before I start in on my stuff? Trust me, there’s a lot.”

Peter smiled at that and frowned, trying to come up with a list of recent events. “Oh, uh, you know I’m graduating soon?”

“Right.”

“There’s this internship. At Stark Industries, you know, the--”

“The one crawling with superheroes?” MJ asked, sounding amused. “Are you applying? Is this like a pilgrimage for you? Do you get to be an Avenger if you get in?”

“Well, I _do_ still have my Captain America decoder ring,” Peter said, grinning. He landed on a ledge halfway up the Empire State building and started thinking seriously about where he should patrol tonight. “ _And_ I still have those Iron Man boxers you bought me for my birthday last year.”

“Give ‘em a glimpse of those and you’re a shoe-in,” MJ agreed. “But really, Peter, you’re applying?”

“I was thinking about it,” he admitted. “It’s paid, and it’d fit perfectly with my grad studies. I might even be able to convince Dr. Vemuri to give me credit for it.”

“So you’ve got all your grad school stuff sorted out?” MJ asked, sounding surprised. Peter winced.

“Uh, yeah. I’m graduating early and going right through to the biochemical engineering program,” he admitted. There was a long pause, during which he made a few faces at the lights below him, each more full of wide eyed chagrin than the last.

“You better sew that headset into your suit,” she eventually said.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter agreed immediately. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“You better, tiger. I’m glad it all worked out. I know you were stressed about it _last year_.”

Peter winced. “So... how’s things in sunny California?”

“On fire,” MJ said, and Peter raised an eyebrow as he took off again, deciding to head toward the seedier part of town and work his way in a loose circle before heading home.

“Is that... good or bad?” Peter asked, after a second. MJ laughed.

“Oh, I’m not on fire. The forests are. It’s actually pretty common out here, I guess?”

“Uh huh--” Peter spotted some trouble below, and changed direction quickly. “Um, MJ, feel free to keep talking, I promise I’m listening, but I might not always be able to respond.”

“That I can do. Brandon at the talent agency said--”

Her voice in his ear was nice. It was good to hear her stories again after such a long time. Once he figured out how to compensate for his dulled hearing on the side she was talking into, it was great.

“And I _told_ her, ruffles aren’t even stylish anymore, but she insisted if we used taffeta--”

“Taffeta?” Peter exclaimed, surprising two guys who were in the middle of beating up a third.

“I know! It was hideous.”

“What the fu-” 

“Dude, I’m kinda on the phone,” Peter told the guy who’d started talking. He pointed at his ear, where Mary Jane was in the middle of describing the fallout from her argument. “She made you wear it? You didn’t do it, did you?”

“I know you’re just pretending to be this interested to confuse some thug,” MJ said, and Peter could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“And it was _pink?_ ” Peter dodged a swing from the second guy and punched him right in the jaw. “And sparkly? I wouldn’t wear that. Well, maybe if you paid me, amirite, guy?”

The guy in question didn’t look like he agreed.

“Even... what’s your name, man?” Peter asked, punching the first in the stomach. He doubled over and gasped. “What? Oh, I’ll give you a second.” He directed his words at MJ this time. “He totally agrees with me, though.”

“Peter, if it was pink and sparkly, I would’ve quit on the spot,” MJ said, sounding amused. “It was a very tasteful blue. As it should’ve been. Pink clashes horribly with my hair.”

“I think I look particularly good in blue,” Peter said, webbing both the men to the alley wall. He looked at the man they’d attacked, who was slumped on the ground where they’d left him, though he was thankfully awake and following Peter with his eyes. “Red and blue, right?”

“Of course you do, Spidey,” MJ said, laughing. “How about I send you this dress in red and blue and you can give it a try?”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t think I have the legs for taffeta.”

“Oh, I know,” MJ said, her voice turning sly. “I could size it up and send one in red and black, instead.”

Peter didn’t immediately respond, calling in the crime on the victim’s phone and helping him stand up. He left the guy in a nearby bodega with a sullen but cooperative cashier, and was on his way again before either of them spoke.

“Was that a yes?” MJ asked. “Because I can have it in the mail tonight.”

Peter very carefully did not imagine Wade in a ruffled taffeta dress as he shot out a web and took off again. “He’d probably like it,” he said neutrally.

“ _You’d_ probably like it,” MJ returned teasingly. “How’s that going, by the way? Did anything come of that dress he wears?”

“Come-- what do you mean?” Peter asked, playing dumb.

“I mean,” she said, her tone pointed and letting him know he wasn’t fooling anybody, “Have you figured out if he’s just a flirt, or if he’s really flirting with you?”

Oh right. That’s where he’d left that conversation with MJ. Way back around Christmas.

“It’s... well, it’s complicated,” Peter said, landing on a rooftop water tower and crouching there to take a short break.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“But we were talking about you,” he protested, rubbing at his forehead through his mask. “I want to hear more about what you’re doing out there.”

“And you will,” MJ agreed. “But I’m curious, and it’s pretty obvious that _something_ happened, tiger. So spill.”

Peter sighed. “Well, you remember the whole thing with the dress, and after that, I figured I’d try and talk to him about it, because, I mean, you know...”

“You wanted to take the dress off,” MJ said. “And the suit. And then knowing you, probably lick--”

“I was hoping to get to know him better,” Peter said loudly, ignoring the rest of her words and continuing quickly. “But we were talking one day, and--”

“Peter, if you’re gonna give me a blow by blow account, let me know right away if I should go somewhere quiet, because I’m in a public place right now,” she teased. Peter’s face burned.

“No, it wasn’t a good talk,” he said, which was what finally got her to fall silent and listen. “I mean, it wasn’t-- it wasn’t like a ‘no deal’ kind of thing, but--”

“Spidey, are you talkin’ to yourself now?”

Peter shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked, and turned to see Wade shimmying his way up the tower, looking determined to reach the top without the help of a ladder and talking a mile a minute.

“Cause you know that’s my bit and I dunno how I feel about you copying my bit, ya know? Copyright infringement battles ain’t pretty and I wanna still like you in the morning. Maybe we could do some kinda deal where I promise to stop telling people I’m Bizarro Spidey if you promise to keep it real, whaddaya say?”

“Hey Wade,” Peter said, shifting over to make room for him and generally letting most of what he’d said slide off his back. Mary Jane had gone silent in his ear. “I’m not stealing your bits, don’t worry.”

He assumed, even expected that Wade would make that dirty, and Wade did pause over it very briefly. In the end, though, all he said was, “Good. You still out hunting for criminals and miscreants, or is it Taco Tuesday yet?”

“I’m starting to suspect that you don’t really get how that phrase is supposed to work,” Peter said dryly.

Wade held up a hand as though holding a skull in a Shakespearean play and said, “No Spidey, it is you who does not understand. Taco Tuesday is not just a day. It’s a state of mind. Taco Tuesday can happen to anyone, anywhere. Any moment!”

“That was beautiful,” Peter said. “Really, I felt it, right here.” He patted a hand over his heart.

“Yeah...” Wade said, going unusually somber. “So uh... if we’re not gettin’ tacos, then...”

“What’s up?” Peter asked, turning more of his attention to Wade and his... odd... body language. He looked more closed off than Peter had ever seen him.

“I just, uh...” Peter stared as Wade rubbed at where his eyebrow should have been under his mask. “I thought I should prob’ly, uh... apologise, ya know?”

Peter stared. “For what?”

“I didn’t think about.” Wade stopped, then started again. “I mean, it didn’t occur to me, ya know? I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea, that’s all.”

“The wrong...” Peter crossed his arms, a little uncomfortable now. “Wade, what are you talking about?”

“You know,” Wade said, a little bit desperately. “Like, with talking about your, your ass, and teasin’ you all the time and, I mean, if... if it bothers you, I’ll stop, but I don’t want you feelin’-- you know, uncomfortable around me.”

Peter’s insides were rapidly hollowing themselves out, leaving him with very little breath with which to say, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“I just wanna make sure you know I’m not serious, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Peter echoed, blinking rapidly.

“I really don’t--”

“I get it, Wade!” Peter said, finally finding his voice if only to spare himself further explanations. “It’s no big deal, I promise. Seriously.”

Wade eyed him for a few seconds, then let out a huge breath, sagging a little. “Whew! Thanks, Spidey. I was worried that was gonna go south, and not in a good w-- I mean...”

Peter pressed his lips together tightly for a second to keep himself from snapping out his next words. “Wade, you can make jokes. It’s no big deal, I promise. I don’t want you to change how you act around me. It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“If you’re sure, Spidey!” Wade clapped his hands together. “So, are we patrolling or what?”

“No, I-I think, I have to... I was actually just about to wrap it up for the night,” Peter lied.

“Taco--”

“No, I’ve got a lot of... uh, stuff to do tonight.” Peter stood up and shot a web out. “I’ll see you around, Wade.”

He left before Wade could respond, and made it almost three blocks away before a voice in his ear startled him enough that he nearly missed a web.

“Oh, Peter.” It was MJ. Peter felt even heavier at the realization that she’d heard that whole exchange. “Sweetie, I’m sorry.”

* * *

 **Monday, August 27, 2012: 5:05 pm**  

Peter threw himself into work and school for the next few days. Full time classes were starting back up again, and Peter was determined to get ahead of the game. His free time was about to become even more scarce, especially with all the work that went into the application for the Stark internship. 

A week into his self-imposed isolation, Peter trudged up the stairs to his apartment, back from classes, and took his glasses off to rub his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

“You look like shit,” Johnny said, and Peter nearly leapt out of his skin.

“Really, Johnny?” he demanded, clinging to the ceiling.

“Yeah, you still not over that hangover?” Johnny paused his video game and gave Peter a closer look. “Where’ve you been, Pete?”

Peter let himself down from the ceiling slowly, then knelt to gather up his papers and bag and put them on the over-cluttered desk in the corner.  

“I’ve been around,” he said, flopping down onto the other end of the futon and clutching a pillow to his chest.  “Where’ve you been?”

Johnny glanced at him, but didn’t take the bait. “What happened?”

Peter buried his face in the pillow and muttered, “Wade.”

A long silence passed between them, then Johnny said, “Ah.”

Peter looked up suspiciously. “Ah?”

“Guessing you finally looked at your texts?” he asked, and Peter scrambled instantly for his  phone, eyes wide. “Oh,” Johnny said, looking bemused. “Guessing I was wrong?”

“What do you know about my texts?” Peter demanded, fumbling his phone open and scrolling down to ‘pool boy’.

“‘I like you’. ‘It’s my booze birthday,’” he out loud with a kind of quiet horror. “‘We should trade pics.’ Oh god, oh no, Johnny--”

“I’m gonna point out that you _didn’t_ send any pictures,” Johnny said, watching him. “So you’re welcome.”

“He didn’t respond!” Peter said, scrolling through the texts and sinking further into the futon as he went, as though he could hide from what he was reading. “He never even said no! Johnny! This is why he did that!”

“Uh, did what?” Johnny asked, watching Peter with a very... restrained expression.

“He... god, this is so much more embarrassing now-- ack--”

“Peter.”

“He _let me down easy_ ,” Peter said, though his words were somewhat muffled by the pillow he’d hidden his face in again. “Wanted to make sure I knew he didn’t _mean anything_ with all the flirting, didn’t want me to get the _wrong idea_ or make me _uncomfortable._ ”

Johnny didn’t say anything for a long minute, and when he did, he said it with feeling. “...shit.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed miserably.

“That’s harsh, Pete.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen him, since...?”

Peter shook his head, still firmly buried in his pillow. Johnny was silent for a few minutes, then cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“So, uh. Pineapple on that pizza?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter.  
> Full disclosure: Couldn’t find a official birthday for him, so I made it up! And i used a band name generator for inspiration. I don’t know. Whatevs, guys. Idec.  
> Fuller disclosure: I know next to nothing about music or being in a band or anything like it. Shoutout to google for anything that sounds right, and damn google for anything that doesn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

[ _Oh, you’re all trashed up, with your big red belt,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _And I’d almost say that you might need help_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Friday, September 7, 2012: 10:38 pm**

He managed to avoid Wade for more than two weeks, which was almost long enough to get his head together and force himself to accept that he’d been chasing after something that just wasn’t going to happen. Or, at least that’s what he told himself he’d managed to do.

Mostly he’d just been moping.

But he was determined not to be a dick about it. Which was something Aunt May had mentioned at Sunday dinner. Or, well, she hadn’t phrased it quite like that. More along the lines of, “Peter, if you really value his friendship like you always told me you did, you’re not going to shun that poor man just because he doesn’t return feelings he didn’t know you had.”

Peter hadn’t expected a scolding when he told her what happened, but that was Aunt May for you. And as usual, she was right. At least, it seemed like she must have the right idea, and it was something to aim for, that kind of thinking. Once he’d finished licking his wounds.

But logically, around and above all the hurt, she was right, and he did care about Wade. So he wasn’t going to ruin things between them, not over this. He’d get over it eventually.

“Haven’t seen you around all week,” Wade said, clambering up a fire escape to where Peter sat, kicking his feet idly on a roof.

“Had a lot going on,” Peter replied, shrugging. “Ready to go foil some high jinks?”

“You know it, baby boy,” Wade said, upbeat as always. Peter shot out a web and took off, confident in Wade’s ability to follow, even if he wasn’t quite sure how he did it.

The night went better than Peter could have hoped. Wade acted like nothing was wrong at all, which made it easier for Peter to pretend the same. And the thing about Wade was that Peter just really liked him. He was just fun to be around. Peter trusted him at his back. The conversation flowed freely and easily, as long as Peter didn’t get too far into his own head.

“Did he think we were just gonna _ignore_ petty vandalism?” Wade asked, outraged. They’d just finished dealing with a guy who they’d caught throwing bricks through the windows of a few different apartment complexes.

“Wade, you broke three more windows,” Peter pointed out disapprovingly. He wasn’t sure why his spider sense had pinged the kid; that kind of thing he usually left to the police. He was operating under the assumption that someone had actually gotten hit by one of the bricks, or the broken glass or something. Either way. Petty vandalism? Really?

“To show him that crime doesn’t pay!” Wade explained, producing a rock he’d clearly grabbed from the crime scene. “And to prove that it’s not as satisfying as it looks, but Spidey, _I was wrong_.”

A little smile quirked the side of Peter’s mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

“Aww, not even in the crappy warehouse district? There’s always something underhanded going on down that way. You can’t throw a stone and not hit a drug dealer or a human trafficker-- come on, I’ll even show ya what I mean--”

“Ha, ha,” Peter said in his blandest tone. “I get it, the joke is funny because you have a stone and you want to throw the stone and then if the stone--”

“Spoilsport,” Wade grumbled, chucking the rock off the roof. The trajectory was _just_ right to hit a window four stories down. Peter webbed it and let it fall harmlessly into the alley below instead. Wade gasped.

“I have _never_ been this disappointed in you, Webs,” he declared, digging into one of his pouches for, Peter suspected, more rocks. He stood up and dusted his hands off.

“C’mon, buddy, maybe the next house will actually give you candy if you say ‘trick or treat’ real nice and fix that sheet up.”

“After you, my sweet baboo,” Wade responded, sweeping his arm out for Peter to pass. Peter’s smile dimmed a little, but he took off anyway, Wade not far behind.

“Stop throwing rocks at people’s windows!” Peter shouted over his shoulder as he webbed east, toward the river.

The sound of shattering glass was followed closely by, “I am officially a reformed citizen! Swearsies!”

* * *

  **Saturday, September 8, 2012: 12:49 am**

Later, after dealing with a couple muggers and a guy heading into the subway with a hunting knife who was ‘uber shady’, according to Wade (Peter agreed), they ended up with their usual fare, random takeout on a random rooftop. Peter might’ve had fantasies that started like this.

But he wasn’t thinking about that kind of thing anymore.

“And sometimes you’ve gotta wonder what all these goddamn birds are even _doing_ in a city, it’s awfully suspicious,” Wade was saying. Peter nodded along and just relaxed to the sound of Wade’s voice. “Sure, there’s food and shit, but they’re birds! They can get food anywhere. You just gotta wonder what they _want._ ”

“Pigeons can recognise human facial features,” Peter offered, and Wade dove on the morsel of information, just like he knew he would.

“They’re tracking us! Part of a huge bird conspiracy!” He shook his gyro at the sky. “Tiny little dinosaurs with wings! They want to take over as the dominant species!”

“Yeah,” Peter said, swallowing another bite before he continued, “But, I don’t know, I think cats are gonna win that one. They’re already running the internet, and they’ve got bigger teeth.”

Wade paused, considering the idea. “They’re kinda assholes, aren’t they?”

“Total jerks,” Peter agreed. “Not like dogs.”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “Dogs just want you to be a good boy. That tabby-lookin’ sonofabitch Mr. Whiskers’ll talk ya into killing three ladies from accounting and storing their heads in your fridge.”

“Um,” Peter said, sitting up a little and staring. “That was distressingly specific, Wade--”

“No worries, Spidey, I don’t even have a cat in this universe,” Wade said, waving a hand.

Peter squinted at him for a moment, then decidedly changed the subject back to something normal. “I’d like having a dog,” he said, slowly shifting back to lean on the high ledge of the roof again. “My place is too small, though. And I’d never have enough time to take care of it. Even a cat would probably need too much attention.”

“Cats are evil, anyway,” Wade reminded him, and Peter smiled.

“You’re right. No cats.”

“Hmm,” Wade said. He twisted around to grab another foil wrapped gyro off the ledge, and something below caught his attention. “Hey Spidey, take a look.”

Peter turned around and followed his gaze down to street level and the crowded entrance of a bar. The line was pretty packed. “What’m I looking at?”

“About a quarter of the way down the line.”

Peter squinted. “Where?”

Wade shifted into Peter’s personal space to get a look at his eyeline, and Peter froze, hardly daring to breathe. “Right... there.” He pointed again, and Peter forced himself to pay attention. He had no chance with Wade. None whatsoever.

“I’m still not... wait, is that Aleksei?” Peter started to sit up, but Wade tugged him back down and grabbed their bag of food off the ledge for good measure. “Wade, that’s the Rhino!”

“Yeah, duh, I saw him first,” Wade said gleefully.

“Then what are we doing?” Peter demanded, though with the gentle pressure of Wade’s hand between his shoulder blades, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Look at him! He’s not tryna cause any trouble in _that_ getup.” Peter looked closer and had to admit that Wade had a point. The Rhino looked like something out of a bad eighties movie. “I just wanna see if they let him in.”

“Oh, come on,” Peter said. “They’re not gonna.”

“They might,” Wade disagreed. “What if it’s eighties night?”

Peter snorted a short laugh, but stayed put. While they waited for the line to move, Wade started humming to himself and shifting his shoulders in a little dance.

“I think the lyrics to that are actually ‘it’s ladies’ night’, not ‘eighties night’,” Peter said, unable to resist.

“Oh yes it’s eighties night, and Rhino feels alright, yes it’s eighties night, oh what a night,” Wade sang under his breath. Peter bit his lip. “Romantic rhino, single baby” he continued, and Peter started laughing quietly, covering his mouth in deference to their hidden position. “Sophisticated mama!”

“Stop, shush, shut up,” Peter said around his laughter, elbowing him twice for good measure. “He’s almost there.”

As they watched, Aleksei reached the front of the line, spoke briefly with the bouncers, and was shunted efficiently out of the way.

“Oooh,” Wade hissed, shaking out his hand. “That looked harsh.”

“I thought for sure he’d at least try to bribe his way in,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I’m honestly a little disappointed.”

Wade glanced over the ledge again, then leaned out over it before Peter could stop him and yelled, “WHAT IS LOVE?! Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, NO MORE!”

“Wade!” Peter hissed, tugging him back onto the roof and hanging on so he wouldn’t try that again. They both giggled like children, and Wade tried and failed to do the head bob thing right, which only set Peter off again.

“Do you think he saw you?” It occurred to Peter to ask after a few minutes. Wade shrugged.

“Only one way to find out,” he said. He shifted around and peered over the ledge, only to immediately duck as several rounds were fired just above his head. “We’ve got a live one here!” he shouted. Peter could hear screams faintly below.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to laugh. “If anyone gets hurt--”

“Nah, I got you, baby boy,” Wade said, poking his head up again, though more carefully this time. “Hasn’t occurred to him to take hostages or nothing. It’s like he’s not even tryin’. BRB Spidey!”

“Wade, wai--” Peter reached out and grasped the air where Wade had been just a second ago. A crunching sound from down below made him wince, and he very carefully peeked out from behind the ledge to see Aleksei facing off with Deadpool, who, of course, was singing again. Or something like it.

“Whoaoo whoaoo whaoooooaaaaho! Whaoooooaaaaho! Oooooh!” Deadpool dodged Rhino’s attacks neatly and shot him in the leg. Peter watched closely, but it looked like those were still rubber bullets. “Dah dah duhduh dahduh duh DUHDUH daahdah duh duhduh--”

Peter sighed as he observed the spectacle unfolding below. This was the person he’d spent the last two weeks moping over. And months before that pining over. Actual months! Wade still wasn’t doing the head bob thing right.

With Rhino distracted and neatly cut off from the line by Wade, Peter rolled his mask back down, jumped off the roof, and webbed the guns right out of his hands. After that, without his suit, Rhino wasn’t really much of a threat.

“Deadpool, stop, stop,” Peter said, landing nearby and webbing Rhino’s hands and feet together. He toppled over, and Peter proceeded to ignore him. “You’re embarrassing yourself. It goes like this.”

He held up his phone and pressed play.

“ _What is love?_ ” the speakers screamed. “ _Baby don’t hurt me!_ ”

Peter started bobbing his head. “See?” he said. “You’ve got the angle all wrong.”

“Don’t you lecture me on my angles,” Wade said, now jerking his whole body around wildly to the beat.

“This is like, a twenty year old meme. You’ve had twenty years to get the headbob right. You’re an actual human disaster,” Peter told him, grinning. The people who’d been waiting to get into the club were filtering back from where they’d taken cover, and staring. He wrapped Aleksei up for transport and glanced over at the crowd. “Uh... nothing to see here, folks. You’re welcome?”

There was a smattering of uncertain applause from the line, and Peter decided he’d take what he could get. At least no one seemed to realize that this was _entirely their fault_.

He hoisted Aleksei over his shoulder and shot out a web. Wade was bouncing up and down hopefully nearby, and Peter sighed. He was going to regret this.

“Come on,” he said.

“Yesssss!” Deadpool cheered, and jumped right on Peter’s back, surprising a small ‘oof’ out of him.

“Don’t let him fall,” he said, and they took off into the sky, headed for the nearest police station to drop off the Rhino. Wade was warm and solid against his back, and Peter had been right. This was a bad idea. His hind brain didn’t need the encouragement.

* * *

**Friday, September 21, 2012: 7:05 pm**

The band’s first gig was at a college bar, thankfully nowhere near Empire State. Not that Peter knew too many people from school by name, but still.

They showed up a little early, even Peter, who had been worried during his earlier fight (with a new villain who called himself Owl) that he’d end up missing it altogether if he couldn’t get things wrapped up in time. Fortunately, he’d come up with a ton of bird-based puns, so it had gone just fine.

"One thing that makes a shitty band extra shitty is their piece of shit sound equipment," Jimmy was saying with confidence as he fiddled with the soundboard, then hurried to adjust an amplifier. "We will not be that kind of shitty band."

"Yeah. If we suck, it'll be through our own hard work and lack of talent," Peter agreed.

"Shut your dick hole," Steph said, smacking him in the back of the head. "We're gonna be awesome."

“And don’t forget to tell the people our name,” Sergio reminded Peter, who was still rubbing the back of his head.

“You have a microphone, too,” Peter pointed out.

“And I’ll use it if I have to, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off,” he said, making a rude hand gesture at Peter. Then he went back to retuning his guitar.

“So no pressure,” Peter said, adjusting his bass.

“I don’t think Peter was listening,“ Jimmy told Steph, eyes still on the soundboard.

“Yes pressure,” Steph said, smiling widely at Peter. “Don’t fuck up.”

Peter scowled at them all. “Well,” he said, pushing his fingers through his hair nervously. “Thanks. Same to you.”

***

It turned out, as a matter of fact, that all Peter had to do was pretend he was wearing his mask when he had to say things to the crowd, then do what he normally did in practice for everything else.

It seemed to work, even. They played a few covers and a couple original songs, and nobody booed them offstage. The crowd was still pretty sizable by the time they were done with the first set. People had even danced.

“I think we’re not too bad!” Jimmy declared, after they left the stage for a quick break. A couple of girls at a table called out as they passed on the way to the bar and waved at them. Sergio slung an arm around Peter’s shoulder and waved back, beaming.

They were all in high spirits for the second set. Once they were back on stage, Peter stepped up to the microphone, glanced sideways at Sergio with a grin, and said, “We’re Curious Liars. Remember guys, be gentle. It’s our first time.”

The crowd in the bar hooted and cheered, and they launched into an original song, one of Peter’s favorites. He and Steph had written it together, though she didn’t know it was pretty heavily about Daredevil. Superheroes and their stories made for interesting songs, and Peter had enjoyed making the references subtle enough that you didn’t immediately spot the connection.

Daredevil, of course, would unquestionably know it was a song about him. Odds were good he’d even realize it’d been written by Spider-Man. Then again, he was never going to hear it, so it all balanced out in the end.

***

They celebrated afterward by having a few drinks at the bar and watching the next act.

“They’re definitely better than us,” Jimmy said, and Peter shoved him, unwilling to have his high spirits dampened.

“Who cares?” he asked, picking up his carefully disguised glass of jack and coke, no jack, and taking a sip. He was going back out on patrol after this, and though the alcohol didn’t exactly get him drunk, it did do weird things to his spider sense that he wasn’t interested in experimenting with.

“Yeah, we did awesome,” Sergio agreed, high fiving Peter, then Steph. Steph in turn tousled Jimmy’s hair, then pulled out her phone. She and Sergio bent their heads together and started talking about venues and social media and all the stuff Peter was determined to stay out of. It wouldn’t even have occurred to him to worry about any of that at this point, but Steph was sharp as a tack, and Sergio had a degree in business he’d always claimed he was never going to use.

“They are pretty good, though,” Peter admitted to Jimmy, in an undertone.

“That’s what I’m saying, man,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink and eyeballing the stage. “I wanna try and talk to them afterward, you think I should?”

“What, you wanna ask about whatever that mod is on their soundboard?” Peter asked.

“That, and their lead guitarist is kinda hot.”

Peter looked more closely at her and nodded. “Yeah, fair enough. I’m not gonna stick around, though.”

“What’s so important at midnight on a Friday?” Jimmy asked, looking away from the band to give Peter a skeptical glance. “You got a tinder date?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s me, Jimmy. I’m a real player.” He finished half his drink in one swallow, then shrugged. “I do all my best work at night. That’s why I go to the Bugle in the morning.”

“Yeah, your boss sounds like the kinda guy who lets you set your own schedule,” Jimmy snorted.

“JJJ respects me as a colleague, and as an individual,” Peter said, ignoring the snickers from the peanut gallery. He could live in a fantasy world if he wanted. “And I’m literally the only game in town for pictures of Spider-Man. I made a deal with the devil a long time ago to guarantee this crappy job.”

“Is Spidey the devil, then?” Jimmy asked. The band was always interested in news about Peter’s super-friends, thanks to Johnny. It really was the best possible explanation for a lot of his oddly-timed absences, and as close to the truth as Peter could reasonably get. Which was always nice.

“Nah,” Peter said. The two girls from earlier were approaching the bar, giggling to each other. “He’s just... a pretty busy guy. So I’ve gotta work on his schedule, you know? It works out for both of us in the end.”

He checked his phone for the time, finished his drink, then nudged Sergio and Steph out of their conversation long enough to say goodbye.

“See you at practice,” he called back to Jimmy, who lifted his drink in farewell. Peter gave the girls a brief smile as he passed them on his way to the door. Wade was out of town and had been for the last few days, and Peter thought he could use the time alone during patrol to either call MJ or think about his thesis.

He definitely wasn’t going to be thinking about what Wade might or might not be doing, because that was unfortunately none of his business.

* * *

**Friday, September 21, 2012: 11:16 pm**

Peter made it two hours into his patrol without coming across anything more complicated than an armed robbery. He’d just paused to take a breather on top of an apartment building when his spider sense twinged.

“Fancy meeting you here, Spider.” Peter looked up sharply at the familiar voice, surprised to find that it really was Black Cat.

“Weren’t you dead?” he asked, shifting to stand up. She shrugged.

“I got bored of it. You know how it is,” she said, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, sure,” he said. “We’ve all been there. I hear Hell doesn’t have cable.”

Felicia gave him a big smile. “It sure doesn’t, sweetie. So, where’s your shadow?”

Peter frowned back through his mask. “My what?”

“You know,” she said, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back slightly. “Deadpool. Never see you without him, these days.”

“But you’ve been dead, so you wouldn’t know about that,” Peter said suspiciously.

“A little bird told me,” she said, shrugging. “But he’s not here. Deadpool?”

“He’s not,” Peter agreed. She watched him with a rapt, calculating expression for long moments.

“So you’re still a lone hero, out to save the world?”

Peter shifted his shoulders. “I mean... I guess so.”

“Mmm,” she said, looking satisfied. “Want some company then?”

Peter considered the offer, torn. On the one hand, she wasn’t exactly the most moral person leaping around New York in spandex. But on the other, in the past, she’d expressed the kind of willingness to try and be better that had made Peter give Wade a chance at first. He’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t at least find out if she was serious.

He resolved to be cautious and said, “Sure.”

Felicia gave him a sharp, pleased smile. “Great,” she said, and took several strides closer. Peter’s eyebrows went up, but she was undeterred. “I’ve missed spending time with you,” she said, and suddenly she was right in his personal space.

“Uh,” he said, and she put a hand right in the middle of his chest and started pushing. He let her walk him backward until he hit the wall of the roof access, trying to debate the pros and cons of what was happening while she ran her hands up his torso. It wasn’t working very well. “We’ve never spent time together like this before,” he pointed out. She took one of his hands and put it on her hip.

“Death really makes you rethink your priorities,” Felicia said with a smile.

She was pressed flush against Peter now, and a small part of his brain shouted, **_‘_ ** _But what about Wade?!’_

Peter shoved it aside with a pang. He was supposed to be moving on. Wade didn’t want him. Wade would probably encourage this. Wade wouldn’t--

“Hey,” he said, catching her hands before she could fit her fingers under the line of his mask. She pouted and tipped her head to the side, pressing her lips to his covered ear.

“Come on, Spider-Man,” she said, making him shiver. It’d been a really long time since he’d been touched like this. Not since--

Gwen.

Felicia’s pale hair flashed golden for a moment, and Peter blinked the thought away, taking a deep, bracing breath.

“Just the bottom half.” Black Cat mouthed at Peter’s ear, and he shuddered, nodding before he’d even considered her words. She rolled the fabric up over his nose, then bit his bottom lip gently. He groaned and tightened his grip around her waist.

“Hmm, I can tell you’re gonna be a lot of fun,” she whispered against his mouth. She was warm and soft and sweet smelling, and Peter didn’t have to make a conscious decision to stop worrying and just let go. It was easy.

* * *

**Wednesday, November 21, 2012: 6:20 pm**

Peter’s life settled into something functional after that. Black Cat started showing up during Peter’s patrols on the regular, sometimes helping him, sometimes convincing him to take a quick break in a conveniently semi-private place. If Peter was honest with himself, it was exactly what he’d occasionally wanted his patrols with Wade to be.

Which didn’t matter, because he and Felicia were... a thing, now, and Peter had moved on, like Johnny and MJ had told him he should. So it was probably for the best that he didn’t patrol as often with Wade anymore, because he had to make time for Felicia, too, and Peter had already spread himself incredibly thin for his last semester of undergrad.

“No, look, we can’t have another practice during the week,” Peter insisted. Jimmy booed and threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him, but Peter persisted. “I’m serious. I have classes and work every day until four. Then more work in the afternoons, except on Wednesday, when we’re already practicing. And I _have_ to have time at night to work on my thesis, and the application for the internship is due in less than a month, and--”

“So, weekends,” Steph interrupted, giving Peter a chance to take a breath. He was glad she hadn’t dug too deep into his ‘classes and work in the morning’ explanation, because classes didn’t start until ten, and that was his extra time to sleep in after patrols. “Sundays.”

“In the morning, sure,” Peter agreed, and Sergio made a strangled sound.

“You expect me to get up early on a Sunday?” he demanded. “After _Saturday night_?”

“Ideally, on _Saturday nights_ we’ll be working anyway,” Jimmy pointed out.

“Yeah, but not all night!” Sergio said. “And then we get to go out and party with all the honeys who love our music!”

“Which we can do just fine, as long as we’re capable of getting up and making it to Jimmy’s place by nine am,” Steph agreed unsympathetically.

“There aren’t that many honeys after you anyway,” Jimmy said, smirking at Sergio.

“Yeah, and what, they’re after your skinny ass?” Sergio shot back, waving one hand. “I don’t think so.”

“If Peter here ever stuck around, I bet he’d have his share,” Steph put in, and Peter tensed. He’d known this conversation had to be coming, but he still didn’t want to deal with it. “Where do you go all the time, anyway?”

“Yeah, man, we’ve been getting questions about it,” Sergio agreed, and it seemed that all of a sudden everyone was willing to drop the topic of schedules and honeys and focus on Peter. He shrugged, trying to keep it light.

“I’ve told you guys, I’m working,” he said. “Spider-Man’s most reliably out and about at night on weekends.”

“Yeah, but he’s your buddy, isn’t he?” Jimmy asked. “Can’t you just ask him to sometimes do you a solid and show up somewhere when _you’re_ free?”

Peter sighed. He didn’t want to make himself sound like a dick, but... “Part of the reason I _can_ keep up this exclusive deal with him is because I work on his schedule. And, you know, that’s what gets me the really good shots of him in action, is that I go where he’s going and it’s not posed.” Not much, anyway.

“But Peeeter,” Sergio whined, and Peter could tell the explanation had been accepted. For now, anyway. “I’m telling ya, you stay after just _one_ of these nights and you’ll be drowning in--” Steph cleared her throat, and Sergio changed tacts without missing a beat, “Beautiful, intelligent ladies who wanna _get to know you_ , if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, man, you can’t just _not_ wanna get laid,” Jimmy agreed, shaking his head as though he couldn’t imagine the kind of sad world Peter lived in where his job took priority over sex.

“Well, I mean,” Peter said, feeling a flush rising up his neck. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Oh come _on_ man--” Sergio started, but Steph cut him off almost immediately.

“Who is she, Peter?” she demanded, grinning. Peter flushed further, which had Jimmy and Sergio sitting up and taking notice.

“Oh man, you got a girlfriend and you never told us?” Sergio looked appalled, but Jimmy was cheering and clapping Peter on the shoulder.

“C’mon, what’s her name? What’s she look like?”

“When’s she gonna come to a show?” Steph asked, raising her eyebrows. They all waited as Peter sorted through the barrage of questions.

“Her name’s, uh, Felicia,” he admitted, and they all exploded into various impressed reactions. Peter had to raise his voice to say, “And she’s not really my girlfriend, she’s just--”

Spending a lot of time wringing all the common sense and propriety out of his lonely, apparently easily manipulated little brain. But he always had a great time. He just knew he ought to be a little more shocked with himself, sometimes. Felicia didn’t seem to want a relationship, which was only good because Peter knew he wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to show her his face. It was all delicately balanced on a whole lot of assumptions and withheld information, and Peter was only barely comfortable with it some days.

The band seemed to know what he meant when he said ‘she’s just’, and Sergio and Jimmy whooped and held up hands for Peter to high five, which he did with embarrassment.

“Okay, okay, Peter’s got a fuck buddy, everyone’s shocked and thrilled for him,” Steph interrupted, looking amused. “But let’s focus, guys. Sunday mornings at nine? Yes? Yes? Yes? Shut up, Sergio. Good. It’s settled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, where to begin.  
> I know I said I wasn’t thinking Ryan Reynolds for Deadpool, but that was definitely a reference to one of his other movies up there. I couldn’t help it. It was too perfect.  
> And I mean, I’m not going to direct you to Kool and the Gang or Haddaway. You can figure that shit out yourselves. I should mention, though, that all the lyrics at the beginning of the chapters are from [Red Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc).  
> Also, there’s a little teensy bit of het in this story! These things happen sometimes. It's in the tags. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I don’t know if I mentioned, but this is a really slow burn, guys. Really, really slow. The slowest.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

[ _I could drop you off at the next red light,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _If it don’t make sense, or it don’t feel right_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Thursday, December 6, 2012: 5:31 pm**

Peter got the news that he was accepted for the internship a week before graduation. He stared at the letter dumbly for about ten minutes, reading and re-reading the cover letter before the words started to gather any meaning.

“I got it,” he said to himself, alone in his tiny little apartment. The radiator was broken again, but that didn’t matter because he _got the internship_!

He fumbled for his phone then hesitated briefly over his contacts before calling Aunt May.

“Peter! Hello-”

“I got it, Aunt May!!” he declared, jumping in place and punching the air with his fist. He pulled the phone away from his face and put it on speaker so that he could start typing out the news in a text to Johnny and MJ. He sent one each to his band mates too, for good measure.

“Got what, sweetheart?”

“I got the internship!”

Aunt May gasped over the speaker, and Peter sent out all the texts, his fingers shaking. “Oh, Peter, congratulations! I knew you’d get it, you work so hard--”

Peter dropped the letter on the futon and danced around his apartment as he chattered excitedly with his aunt about what the internship entailed and when he would start and how he’d finally, _finally_ be able to quit at the Daily Bugle.

“I’m gonna go in there on my last day and hand him a picture of Spider-Man’s middle finger, Aunt May--” Peter said with exuberance, and she chuckled.

“You absolutely are not going to do that,” she warned, and he could see her stern expression in his mind’s eye. He grinned anyway.

“Well maybe when he fires me that day, I’ll just pick up all my stuff and walk out,” he said, starry eyed at the possibility. “And I’ll block his number and never see that stuffed shirt again.”

“That sounds like a much better idea,” she agreed, and Peter jumped up onto the ceiling, pacing upside down. He was full of energy and excitement, and he needed to burn it off _somehow_.

He spotted his Spider-Man suit and dropped to the floor, pulling it on hastily as he trapped the phone against his shoulder to continue talking to Aunt May.

“Are you worried to be working in the same building as the Avengers?” she asked. Peter had just switched the call over to the headset in his mask, and had to ask her to repeat herself.

“Well, a little,” he admitted, crawling out his window and up onto the roof. He just wanted to swing around for awhile, tonight. “But I think if I’m really careful I should be fine. It’s not like I’ll be working directly with any of them. It’s possible that I’ll never even see them.”

“If you ever meet Captain America as yourself, Peter, you have to _promise_ me--”

Peter laughed and took a running leap off the building. He was out of view of his apartment in seconds. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get his autograph for you. I’ll do it if I ever get a chance to talk to him as Spider-Man, too.”

“You’re such a good boy,” Aunt May said fondly. Peter shook his head, and started hearing the beep-beep in his ear that suggested a lot of people were texting him back at once.

“Hey, Aunt May, I don’t wanna cut this short, but--”

“I’m sure you want to call MJ,” she said, unsurprised. “And you had better, Peter Parker. It is not my job to keep your friends informed about your comings and goings.”

“Are you saying you two talk?” Peter asked, wrong footed. “About me?”

“Of course we do, dear,” Aunt May said. “But mostly, we talk about inaccuracies in Grey’s Anatomy. And about how terrible you are at keeping in contact.”

“Okay, I know, I’m sorry,” Peter said, landing on a particularly tall building and dropping down to sit with his feet hanging off the edge. “I’ll try harder, I promise.”

“There is no try, Peter,” she retorted. “Only do.”

Peter responded to that with a mock gasp. “Did you just quote Yoda?”

“If you think I could have raised _you_ and not seen that movie at least dozen times, young man,” she teased. “Then you’re not as clever as I thought you were.”

Peter laughed. “I’ll see you on Sunday, ok?”

“See you Sunday, dear.”

Peter hung up the call, then checked his messages. Sure enough, all five of them had responded with various congratulations and at least five exclamation points each, which, really, was all he asked for.

He grinned to himself and started responding to them all, then hesitated when a thought occurred to him. He kind of wanted to tell Wade.

He shouldn’t, though, right? It was very specific information, getting an internship at Stark Industries. It’d kind of give the game away.

But then, he could still _tell_ him, and just leave out the where, right? He didn’t like how distant Wade had been recently, and he knew it was probably his fault with how little time they spent together these days.

Aunt May had told him, way back when he’d first realized how impossible everything he wanted was, that he shouldn’t take their lack of relationship out on his friendship with Wade. Which meant he should be doing better. And he _wanted_ to tell Wade.

Before he could second guess himself, Peter opened up a new text.

_-You around tonight?_

**_-You know it, Spidey. You wanna do it Powerpuff style?_ **

Peter grinned.

- _Meet me at milf plaza._

He put the phone back in his pocket without waiting for a response and set off toward Times Square. It was a little early for patrol, but Peter honestly couldn’t care less.

He arrived at the flickering, half unlit sign for Milford Plaza, having taken a brief detour to grab a bag of fast food for the two of them.

Wade was already waiting there in a spot near the wall that was shielded from both the setting sun and the snow when Peter landed, and perked right up when he handed over the bag of burritos and chimichangas.

“Oh, baby boy, you are my only sunshine,” he declared, sitting down right where he stood and sorting through the options.

Peter remained standing, still bouncing a little with excitement, and Wade looked up again after a second, confused. “Uh... What’s up?”

Peter rolled up his mask to his nose, then forced himself to just sit down and stop acting like a little kid who’d just been promised ice cream.

“We’re celebrating,” he said, digging through the pile for one of the burritos he’d specifically ordered for himself. He looked up when he found it and grinned widely. “I’m graduating in a week, and I just found out I got the internship I applied for.”

There, that was both exactly why Peter was so thrilled, and common enough to be vague, hopefully.

Wade’s reaction was everything Peter could’ve hoped for, and half the reason he’d wanted to tell him.

“Spidey!!” Wade popped up onto his knees, abandoning the food, and tugged Peter into a brief, but tight, hug. “That’s amaze-balls. I knew you were some kinda genius!”

Peter couldn’t stop smiling as Wade went on a mile-a-minute rant. “And I always knew you were just _super_ nerdy too, Spidey, I totes called that one! One of these days you’re gonna start tellin’ everybody they hafta call you ‘Doctor Spider-Man’ and I’m not even gonna be surprised, ya know? Except the real important question is whether you’re gonna make ‘em spell it out like Doctor Who or if we can make you a D-R, for clarity, ya know? Or a P-H-D. Spidey, PhD.” Wade swept a hand out in front of them to frame the words. “I like that better.”

Peter laughed, a little flushed with all the praise, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I think ‘Dr. Spider-Man’ would change the expectations people have of the kind of work I’m doing,” he offered, and Wade agreed without missing a beat.

“The difference between ‘Spider-Man’ and ‘Dr. Spider-Man’ is like, a thousand tiny little spiders that you unleash on your enemies,” Wade agreed, and Peter snorted.

“Wait, what?”

“I dunno, that’s just what I picture a ‘Dr. Spider-Man’ getting up to,” Wade said airily. “Just being honest, Spidey. Spider-Man is half spider. Dr. Spider-Man _has_ spiders. That’s just the way it is.”

“I’m absolutely going to start threatening thugs with thousands of tiny spiders,” Peter said with conviction.

“That’s the spirit, Dr. Spidey,” Wade said. He leaned in, wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders, and squeezed again before letting go entirely and sitting back down with the food. Peter, who’d been caught off guard by the freebie hug, took a second to clear his head before he joined him.

They ate for a few minutes before it occurred to Peter that he should probably add a caveat to that conversation.

“Could you... uh,” Peter said, lowering his burrito for a second.

Wade, who’d just taken another bite, made an enquiring sound.

“Just... don’t mention that to anyone,” Peter said. “I know I probably don’t need to even ask but, like. It’s just between you and me.”

If it got back to Tony Stark that Spider-Man had just gotten an exciting internship straight out of college, well. Peter could guarantee his secrets would be up in smoke. He knew he could trust Wade, but he’d really feel better confirming it.

“Course,” Wade said, once he’d swallowed most of the food in his mouth. They ate quietly for another few minutes, which should have told Peter that something was up, before Wade added, “Not even your girlfriend?”

“My-- uh,” Peter flailed briefly, wrongfooted. “Black Cat? She’s not-- I mean, no. Definitely not.”

Wade waggled his eyebrows. “Trouble in paradise, Spidey?”

“No, I just-- she’s not even my girlfriend.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Wade said airily. “With the way she acts, you’d think two are banging on the regular. And you’re always takin’ off with her, so I just assumed--”

Peter’s face went hot, and he could only hope that his burrito was large enough to hide it. Remorse he hadn’t even known he felt rose up, and he quashed it down. “I mean, but, we... I mean. We are.”

Wade’s head came up. Peter pushed forward, mortified and guilty.

“We’re together, we’re just not...” He chewed on his lip, looking for an explanation. “Not together,” he finished lamely.

Wade, when Peter dared to look up at him, looked surprised.

“Okay, so, uh,” Wade said, and Peter was prepared to let Wade make him feel one hundred percent like a piece of garbage for his horrible life choices. Abandoning his friend for a girl he wasn’t even really with and couldn’t see himself staying with long term? That was shitty.

“Spidey,” he finally continued, his voice more gentle than Peter had expected. “You know if you’re not happy with the way you two are doin’ things, you can tell her.”

Peter blinked. “What do you mean?”

Wade gestured with his chimichanga. “I mean, I never really pegged you for the casual type. With relationships. You know?”

Yes, Peter did know. He’d thought about that a lot himself over the past few months.

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you really like her and wanna do more than just fool around, you gotta sit her down and tell her,” Wade continued. Peter stared at him. “Give her a chance to decide if that’s what she wants or not, ya know? Chicks dig communication, baby boy.”

Peter’s chest ached for reasons he didn’t quite want to identify. “When did you get so smart?” he asked. Wade shrugged.

“The kohai becomes the senpai,” he declared. “The circle of life is complete.”

Peter went back to his burrito as Wade launched into a monologue comparing various manga to their anime counterparts, starting, of course, with Ouran Koukou Host Club, and knew without question that he wasn’t going to be having that kind of conversation with Felicia anytime soon. Not unless he wanted to get dumped. From where he was standing, there was nowhere to go but down.

* * *

**Monday, January 7, 2013: 7:45 am**

Peter did get around to calling MJ. He also had a celebratory dinner with Aunt May on the day he graduated, and went out with Johnny and the band. He didn’t even leave early.

So by his first day at Stark Industries, Peter felt (mostly) prepared to accept that he really had been hired there. He stepped through the tall glass doors into the front lobby, looking around with slightly wide eyes. The receptionist had noticed him and smiled, and Peter made a beeline toward her.

“Hi,” he said, shuffling through the papers in his messenger bag to find the right ones. “I’m Peter Parker, I’m interning--”

“Oh, sure,” she said, taking the papers and glancing over the details. “Welcome to Stark Industries, Mr. Parker. Do you need a parking pass?”

Peter grinned a little bashfully and shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

She typed into her computer for a second, then gathered a few more things and handed him back his papers, along with an ID card and a few other odds and ends. “You’re on the tenth floor, Mr. Parker. Ask for Dr. Rathmus.”

“Thank you!” he said, then hurried toward the bank of elevators.

He managed to duck into one with a crowd of people and took the short break to take a breath and be quietly delighted with his present location. He accidentally met the eye of one of the suited men in the mirrored walls, who was watching him with carefully masked amusement.

Peter realized that he must look exceptionally and blatantly like a greenhorn intern and decided to try and tone it down by the time he got out of the elevator. His phone buzzed, and he figured that he had just enough time to check it before they reached his floor.

**_-Good luck on your first day, Spidey!_ **

He compressed his lips so that he wouldn’t step out of the elevator grinning like a fool, and followed a couple other people out when the doors opened.

He found Dr. Rathmus’s offices easily, and soon he was being hustled around on a tour by a sleepy looking woman named Clara who was also his direct supervisor.

“Here is where you will be making me coffee,” Clara told him as they passed by the break room. Peter managed not to frown by remembering how much he was getting paid an hour to do so. She hesitated, then doubled back and poured herself a cup. “Want one?”

Peter was taken aback, but accepted, and they moved on.

“This is where I work most of the time, usually starting at eleven like a reasonable person,” she said with a trace of bitterness, gesturing to the door of a lab. There were windows all along the hallway that revealed the inside. It looked chock-full of science, and Peter wanted very badly to go in and inspect a few things. “You can come in there to bring me coffee, or if you have questions. Do not ever touch anything in there unless you’re told to.”

“Yes ma’am,” Peter said, deflating a little.

“Bathrooms are down that way,” she gestured. “And you’ll be working in here.”

It was another, slightly smaller lab, still stuffed with equipment and science. Peter perked right back up. “Try not to blow it up. Mostly, you’ll be trying to replicate the results of past experiments, but if you have something in mind that fits with our goals, feel free to write up some exploratory research and make a pitch. You’re in grad school, right?”

“Just started, yeah,” Peter said, now barely restraining himself from bouncing with joy.

“Great. We’re always willing to work with any educational goals you might have, as long as they don’t stray too far from our current field of research.”

She opened the door, and Peter followed her inside. “Brian,” she called, and a man who looked a little older than Peter materialized in front of them. “This is Peter Parker. Fit him in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and Clara left without further comment. Brian turned away and led Peter to where he would be working for the foreseeable future.

He could already tell this internship was going to be amazing.

* * *

**Thursday, January 10, 2013: 11:15 pm**

[Peter and Felicia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4V21nwX_6Vs) never exactly exchanged phone numbers or added each other on snapchat. He never quite knew when she was going to turn up and insert herself into his night, but she was both unpredictable and assertive enough about it that when it did happen, he felt swept away by a forceful tide of intent.

Take tonight, for example. Peter had been out on patrol not ten minutes ago, and hadn’t heard a word from her in two weeks.

She’d made quick work of him, managing to leap onto his back mid-swing (impressive in and of itself), and convince him to land at an empty construction site, twenty stories up on an exposed I-beam.

It was a precarious position, even for Peter, and having her up here with him made him a little anxious. She shifted and twisted until suddenly, he was sitting down with a lapful of Black Cat and nothing but his sticky fingers to balance them while she rocked slowly against him. She slipped her fingers into his waistband to hike his suit up and expose his stomach, taut with tension.

“How should we do this tonight?” she asked, her fingers tracing over his shoulders and around to cup the back of his head to pull him closer.

“Maybe somewhere a little more solid?” Peter suggested, feeling the miniscule dip and sway of the cold beam under their weight. The scant protection of plastic sheeting around the construction site meant they weren’t buffeted by the icy wind outside, but he could hear it whistling through the gaps. It didn’t feel particularly romantic.

“Solid?” Felicia repeated, grinding against him as she rolled his mask up to his nose and spoke against his mouth. “Spider, if I thought I could convince you to let me ride you while you web through the city, that’s what we’d be doing, Right. Now.”

As always, Peter flushed vividly at how graphic her suggestions were. His hands were occupied with maintaining their balance on the thin beam, and she licked a long stripe up his neck as she stroked him a few times through his suit. Then Peter felt the cold breeze for a moment before a thin, cool sheath, enveloped him, and Felicia shifted and suddenly sank down until there was nothing but heat. Peter’s eyes glazed over and he ducked his head against her shoulder, still clinging to the beam with both hands.

Peter’s arms shook as she started to move, the familiarity of her body contrasted with the sharp strangeness of their environment. That dynamic had somehow become familiar, but Peter couldn’t think about it too deeply, or really about much of anything. He closed his eyes and shifted to open his legs wider, wishing he had _something_ to leverage with. There wasn’t even another joist near enough to aim at, though he was sure Felicia would enjoy the sight of him clinging to a web to hold them up instead.

She seemed to be having enough fun just like this, and Peter wasn’t _complaining,_ exactly. He gasped when she shifted and picked up the pace, and her moans increased in pitch to match. “Oh, just like that,” she groaned. Peter could feel himself getting close, too, his breath coming in sharp pants, eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh fuck,” Felicia moaned, then leaned in, bit the lobe of Peter’s ear, and whispered, “Come for me, baby boy.”

Peter’s mouth fell open on a sharp gasp, and his vision went a little spotty as he obeyed mindlessly.

Afterward, it wouldn’t occur to Peter what she'd called him, and Felicia wouldn’t say anything. She did, however, kiss him on the forehead through his mask (a first), and give him an odd little look before she left him to finish his patrol, alone.

* * *

**Wednesday, January 25, 2013: 7:56 pm**

Peter’s schedule changed pretty significantly as a result of grad school and his change of jobs. The internship ran from three to seven thirty at night on weekdays, which meant he had to suck up to the rest of the band for weeks to convince them not to be too pissed off about pushing Wednesday’s practice to eight.

The biggest change in his day was that, after his first day at Stark Tower, he never had to get up before nine, whereas last semester his schedule had been a back and forth between six am and ten. He thought he might actually be capable of a regular sleep schedule now. Nothing really happened on patrol after four am, which meant Peter was guaranteed at least five hours a night if he was careful.

Things were definitely looking up. That, of course, was assuming he could make it to Thursday and Friday night gigs on time.

Peter had elected, when he first started working at Stark Industries, to not wear his Spider-Man costume under his clothes. First of all, the sentient AI that Tony Stark had created almost certainly kept a constant eye on everything that went on in the building, and Peter was uninterested in handing over his identity that easily. Secondly, if they had a gig after work, Peter couldn’t exactly explain how he’d changed out of his work clothes in the time should have taken him to arrive on the subway, and Steph was absolutely sharp enough to ask (and did, in fact, ask, that one time he’d ended up fighting Mysterio on the way to band practice and showed up late afterward in the jeans and hoodie he kept stashed near Jimmy’s place).

And he certainly wasn’t putting his button down and tie _back_ on after he arrived at a bar.

So he kept a suit bundled up near Stark Tower, just in case, and took the subway to whatever bar they were playing at most nights. Nobody had complained so far when Peter showed up still in his work clothing. Peter found time between songs to get rid of the tie, and usually just wore a tank underneath his button down, so he could take that off, too. With dark jeans, he looked just about presentable in either setting.

Most Friday nights with a gig, like tonight, Peter hurried in just as the previous band was finishing up their set, passed his messenger bag off to the bartender for safe-keeping, and was handed his bass as Steph or Sergio shoved him up onto the stage, looking relieved that they hadn’t had to ask the other band to keep going til their singer and bassist arrived.

Peter wasn’t exactly sure when they’d gotten good enough that _anyone_ tolerated it, but he was grateful, and made sure everyone knew it.

Somehow, probably through Sergio and Steph’s careful management and ardent social media presence, their little band had acquired a cult following. (He suspected having the Human Torch occasionally show up and tell everyone how awesome this band was couldn’t have hurt, either.)  Peter pushed his glasses up his nose and made a mental note to take them off after the first song was over. He barely had time to identify the band for the audience before Sergio dove into the opening chords of the first song.

Peter was kind of used to this by now. He had just enough time to set his glasses down on an amp and loosen his tie before Steph got them going on the next song. He assumed they wanted to maintain the energy of the room, and he had no business complaining anyway if it took most of a set for him to get his overshirt off. He could suffer feeling a little overheated for a while, he knew, or he could get there earlier.

He assumed, when he did finally get a chance to actually strip his unbuttoned shirt off all the way, that all the hooting and shouting was probably just general excitement, so he ended up just tossing his shirt onto the amp next to his glasses and stepping back up to the microphone with no comment.

Next to him on stage, Sergio tended to look pretty amused, so Peter assumed he was right.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 5, 2013: 1:21 am**

“He met Marmalade down in old Moulin Rouge! Strutting her stuff on the street!”

Peter watched Wade dance around with a bemused expression, occasionally webbing up one of the gang members Wade knocked out when he realised they were starting to wake up. Between the two of them, they’d tracked this group down to one of the seedier buildings in the heart of the warehouse district. Wade had chucked a rock through a window, then burst in, cackling to himself. Peter rolled his eyes and followed. Once he verified that there were nowhere _near_ as many guns as he assumed this gang would have, it became much more entertaining to hang back and watch Wade work.

“He said, ‘Hello, hey Joe!’” He rapidly punched a ‘joe’ in the face, then the stomach, and left him on the floor for Peter. “You wanna give it a go-WHAOAOOAO?!?”

“Are you capable of singing anything written in the last ten years?” Peter shouted down at him from where he was hanging out on top of a crate. “Boo! Boooo!”

“Boy you got my heartbeat runnin’ away!” Wade sang without missing a beat, shooting a gangster in the leg. There were only two or three left, and they were looking trapped. “Beatin’ like a drum and it’s coming your way!”

Peter snickered. Wade was working his way closer to the last two, and he thought he knew what was coming.

“Can’t you hear that BOOM BADOOM BOOM, BOOM BADOOM BOOM baby!” As he sang, he punched them each three times in the face.

“He got that super bass,” Peter called as they both went crashing to the floor.

“Damn right,” Wade agreed, surveying their work proudly. Peter webbed up the last three men and fished through one of their pockets for a phone. They waited until they heard sirens in the distance, then took off.

“That was great,” Peter said later, just to watch Wade preen. “We caught everyone, and no one died or escaped. It was perfect, Wade.”

Wade dusted off his own shoulder proudly. “Well, what can I say, I’ve been working on my non-lethal skillz.”

“I heard that ‘z’,” Peter said, grinning.

“I’ll uze as many z’s as I wanna,” Wade shot back. They were settled on a parapet on some unnamed building, taking a quick break. “And they are skillz! I’m only getting better, Webs.”

“I know, Wade,” Peter said agreeably.

“It’s like, if ya think about it like Grand Theft Auto,” Wade began, and a small line formed between Peter’s eyebrows.

“I don’t know about--”

“No, no, hear me out!” Wade said, waving his hands around. “Like if everyone you killed was like killin’ a cop in Grand Theft Auto.”

Peter hesitated, then said, “I’m listening.”

Wade nodded eagerly. “You lose points if you kill someone, right, but you’ve still gotta take ‘em down, and if _they_ manage to kill someone you lose the points anyway! And you get points by completing jobs.”

Peter frowned. “Like just now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Wade said with a shrug. “Or like, last job I took was in El Salvador, and the goal was to dismantle this human trafficking ring, and I actually gained a net of three thousand points, which _I_ think is pretty impressive considering how goddamn sleazy those people were, Spidey, for real, it took every single drop of willpower I had not to just blow their nasty brains out, but I said I wanted to stop being like that, so instead I let the lynch mob deal with ‘em!”

Peter’s eyes went a little wide. “You-- oh, that’s--” He was going to say _just as bad_ , but he stopped himself because first of all, Wade was clearly trying, and he was right, he hadn’t killed anyone. Surely that deserved some recognition. A for effort, kinda thing.

Secondly, they were human traffickers, and even Peter didn’t have much sympathy for what happened to people like that, once he’d turned them over to the authorities.

Thirdly, was Wade actually talking about where he _went_ last time he disappeared for three weeks? He _never_ talked about his disappearances. Peter wanted to encourage this.

So instead, he swallowed and said, “Yeah, that’s really impressive. I -- wow.”

“Yeah,” Wade said, clearly very pleased with himself. “And here’s somethin’ else, Spidey: I haven’t killed anybody in over _six months._ ”

Peter’s eyebrows went right up. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Wade said, popping the p as though he knew exactly how impressed Peter was. Which, well. He really was.

“That’s--” Peter said, feeling sudden a swell of pride for Wade. “-- _fantastic_.”

“Aw, shucks,” Wade said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, really, Wade, that’s--” Peter had a sudden sharp sense that something was going very wrong nearby, and turned his head, frowning.

Wade looked up to see why he’d stopped, and said, “What is it, Lassie? Is it little Timm--”

Peter webbed him in the face rather than responding, and leapt off the building without him. He did, however, glance back in time to change directions and catch Wade when he jumped right after Peter.

He caught him halfway down and went back to swinging in the right direction, yelling, “What the _hell_ , Wade?”

Wade had to roll his mask up since he couldn’t rip the webbing off himself, and clung to Peter at an awkward angle as they flew through the air.

“I figured it’d be faa _aaa_ ster!” he shouted at the apex of a swing.

“You idiot,” Peter said fondly, his heart still beating a little fast. They’d been ten stories up. He didn’t care if Wade would just wake back up later, that was _dumb._ “You wouldn’t have survived that, and then what would I have done?”

He didn’t think Wade could hear him with the wind in their ears, but he did hold on a little tighter until they reached the danger, which turned out to be a death ray and an angry super villain that both needed taking down. So who knew. He wasn’t complaining either way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews!!
> 
> (I've decided to just start linking to the songs Peter would have 'written' about a character or event at the point where it comes up in the story. So there's a link now in the scene with Peter and Felicia that's a song he 'wrote' about their relationship, which is Razorblade, by the Strokes. Peter's sometimes kind of an idiot.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my betas, [isaDanCurtisproduction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/), [Cliophilyra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/), and [123AKM456](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4594855/123AKM456), who all helped enormously in making this fic as good as it is!

* * *

[ _All the girls could never make me love them_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _The way I love you_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Monday, March 18, 2013: 12:58 am**

It was snowing in flurries, and Peter and Felicia were on a quiet, secluded rooftop. Peter tried to pick the kind that wasn’t easily accessible, because apparently more than one person knew how to find him that way, and the kind of things Black Cat liked to do on rooftops were not for public consumption.

Not that she was often all that interested in doing them in private, either. Peter not-so-secretly thought she was an exhibitionist.

Tonight seemed to be an exception to that rule, however.

“I was just thinking,” she said, hooking one leg around his thigh and pulling him in close. She knew exactly what she was doing. Every time she said ‘I was thinking’ and then did _that_ , Peter ended up going along with something insane like breaking into a hotel to roleplay or having sex on top of the GWB.

“You should come back to my place,” she said. Peter froze.

“Why would you want us to do that?” he asked. She’d never hinted at this kind of familiarity before. Honestly, however conflicted it had made him feel, he’d been okay with it.

“I just think it’d be interesting to get out of these clothes for once,” she told him, reaching down to slide her fingers under his suit at the waist and rest them on the skin there. “You know, all the way.”

“All the-- uh, that doesn’t sound-- I don’t know about that,” Peter stammered. He definitely wasn’t prepared to take his mask off for her. Hell, she’d still never given him a clear answer about why she faked her own death. Or came back.

“Oh, come on,” Felicia said, kissing his neck. “I’ll keep all the lights out if you’re worried about your silly old identity.” She smirked and bit gently at his jaw. “Or you can blindfold me.”

“I-- I-- I--” Peter said, then had to gasp because of what she was doing with her tongue. “I have i-important things to do tonight,” he tried. “I have a-a paper due on Thursday, and--”

She pulled back and frowned at him. “A _paper_?” she asked. “What, are you still in school?” Suddenly, there was a bit of distance between them, and Peter could think a little more clearly.

He frowned. “Yeah. Grad school, so.”

“Grad school,” she repeated, staring.

“Yeah,” he said, not elaborating.

“Uh huh.”

“What?” Peter asked, rolling his mask down from where she’d hiked it up. She made a small moue of distaste.

“That is _not_ what I was imagining,” she said, shaking her head. Peter scowled.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, and she just shook her head again.

“You know what, it’s fine,” she said. “Go home and write your paper, sweetie.”

“You sure?” Peter asked, a little confused now, in addition to being annoyed.

“Yeah,” she said, backing away. “I’ll see you around.” With that, she ran to the edge of the rooftop and dropped over the edge, swinging away on a grappling hook a second later.

As he walked over to the edge and watched her go, Peter had a sneaking suspicion that he’d just been dumped.

“Shoulda mentioned the band instead,” he mumbled to himself, looking around the empty rooftop for something he wasn’t going to find. Then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his masked face, thinking about how badly the rest of his patrol was going to go, now.

He just wanted to go home.

* * *

**Monday, March 18, 2013: 4:12 am**

“Hey there, stranger,” Johnny said when Peter came in through the window later that night. Peter wasn’t even surprised anymore, when he found Johnny in his apartment. Apparently, that was the only way they saw each other these days. It was probably true.

“Hey,” Peter said, stripping off his suit as he walked and forcing the futon into bed mode with the force of his collapse onto it. Johnny didn’t flinch when he was lifted up a foot in his seat and dropped back down, but he did turn the game off entirely and shift to fold his legs up on the bed. He stared at Peter, who lay there on his stomach in his briefs and the boots from his suit, his head hidden under a blanket that had been near to hand.

“Wade?” he asked. Peter grumbled and shook his head. The motion must have come through from under the blanket, because Johnny tried again. “Felicia?”

The mumble Peter offered this time was taken as confirmation, and Johnny hesitated. “She dump you?” he finally asked. Peter mumbled again. “That sucks, man.”

After a minute, he stood up and pulled Peter’s boots off for him. Peter turned his head enough that his next words could be heard.

“You gotta have some kind of crisis soon so I don’t feel like such a loser all the time.”

“Nah,” Johnny said. “You stuck around after I got expelled _and_ sued, and after Crystal. We’re still even.”

“Good,” Peter said, barely noticing when Johnny flipped off the lights and climbed back onto the futon, emanating a gentle heat.

“Was it bad?” Johnny asked, a little while later. Peter turned over and stared up at the square of streetlight shining on the ceiling.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been,” he admitted. The whole futon was warm now, and Peter actually felt sleepy. “She’s just [not interested](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10O-AGw0XlU) in me anymore.”

“Still sucks.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

**Tuesday, October 15, 2013: 4:27 pm**

A few months back, Peter was moved to a different lab. It was slightly larger, and the experiments were _much_ cooler, so he thought of it as getting a promotion even if no one else described it that way.

He was still replicating old experiments, but now he was working with DNA structures that didn’t act like normal DNA, and telomeres that replicated bizarrely, and long story short, he thought he might be working with DNA from the resident supers.

It was both exciting and terrifying to think about.

For the past couple weeks, he’d been fiddling with some of that odd DNA, the stuff that... well... Peter didn’t dare say it out loud, but this stuff kind of _hulked out_ when agitated. It was fascinating to watch, and if he was right about its origin, he had some ideas for how to play with it.

He had dutifully submitted an experimental paradigm using the most bland and innocuous wording possible, hoping that he and Clara could kind of wink-wink nudge-nudge around the topic enough for Peter to get his permissions, and in the meantime, he worked with the assigned CRISPR/Cas9 enzymes as directed. He might have also spent some time dreaming up different hormone cocktails to feed into his proposed experiment, but if anyone asked, those were just doodles.

At worst, Peter expected a denial with maybe some pointed suggestions to keep his nose out of it. At best, he thought he might get a tentative greenlight, maybe get to assist on the new project with a more experienced chemist.

What he most certainly did _not_ expect was a visit to the lab from [Dr. Bruce Banner](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZDAYg196x8) himself.

All afternoon, the centrifuge had been vibrating like crazy, so Peter was in the middle of taking it apart to check on the bearings. There was a smear of grease on his glasses and a little screwdriver hanging out of his mouth when the door to the lab opened.

Peter, who was focused on all the little bits and pieces he was trying to carefully disassemble, assumed that it must be either Clara or Susan, who was the other intern that spent a lot of time in this lab.

“Could you hand me that lubricant, please?” he asked, his words a little distorted because of the screwdriver.

The hand that held out the bottle was decidedly male, and when Peter looked up, the screwdriver fell right out of his mouth.

A dozen things to say piled up in the back of his throat, but somehow the one that made it out was, “Am I fired?”

Dr. Banner smiled at him. “What would make you think that?” he asked.

Peter carefully set down all the tiny pieces, picked up the screwdriver, then straightened up, saying, “Um, I just thought I’d check,” he said.

“No,” Dr. Banner said. “You’re definitely not fired. I just wanted to speak with you about that proposal of yours.”

“Oh,” Peter said, though it came out as more of a squeak. He cleared his throat and continued with more dignity. “Then in that case, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“I wonder what it would’ve been if I was here to fire you?” Dr. Banner asked. Peter’s eyes widened.

“Ha, uh, maybe a consolation prize?” he said. He’d only ever met Dr. Banner before when he was the Hulk, but he’d read tons of his published papers and might have been a little bit of a fanboy about it. It was taking everything he had to keep from babbling like a fool.

“You’re quick,” Dr. Banner responded, looking amused. He stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around the lab, his eye catching on Peter’s notes for the current experiment. “Tell me about your proposal,” he said.

“Well,” Peter said nervously. “In the current experiment, the CRISPR/Cas9 enzyme is meant to be rewriting those DNA molecules, but it can’t. Which is kind of unusual, because the coding is correct and there’s nothing wrong with any of the batches of CRISPR I’ve used; I triple checked. And the DNA reacts... explosively to the enzyme, which, again, is... unusual.”

“Right,” Dr. Banner said. He sounded encouraging and not at all angry, so Peter forged onward.

“I thought that maybe introducing a buffer between the enzyme and the DNA might help,” he offered. Banner nodded.

“And you listed oxytocin and serotonin as bases of the first two hormone cocktails because...”

 _Because the love hormone and the happy hormone might make DNA-Hulk not feel quite so much like smashing,_ Peter thought and did not say.

“Because I was just thinking of how oxytocin can stimulate phospholiphase C, and it seemed like it was worth finding out if the signal transduction pathways could be blocked with--”

Dr. Banner had been nodding along as Peter spoke, and chose that moment to cut in. “It is a clever idea,” he said. “In fact, we have something very similar in the pipes already.”

Peter’s face fell. So this was a ‘stay out of it’ conversation. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, I guess that’s not surprising.”

“Just tell me one more thing, Mr. Parker,” Dr. Banner said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know what you’re working with, here?”

He gestured generally to Peter’s notes and the vials in the fridge. Peter hesitated.

“I could hypothesize,” he said tentatively.

“And no one dropped any hints that might’ve helped that hypothesis along?” Dr. Banner prompted.

“It would be based more on the data,” he said, shaking his head. Dr. Banner smiled, bigger than he had so far.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “Make sure you stop in and speak with Ms. Pierce on your way out today.”

“To-- confirm that I’m definitely not fired?” he asked, nervous all over again. Why would he need to talk with HR?

“To update your clearance and confirm your new assignment,” Dr. Banner corrected. “You’re on this project, under Dr. Turpin.”

Peter’s mouth fell open slightly. “I am?”

“Stark Industries doesn’t believe in wasting talent,” Dr. Banner said. He gave Peter a nod, then turned to leave. “Have a good afternoon.”

* * *

**Thursday, April 10, 2014: 2:20 pm**

Peter was going to be murdered if he missed (or was late to) one more gig with the band. He didn’t even have taking pictures of Spider-Man as an excuse anymore, because he didn’t _need_ to anymore, and hadn’t needed to in over a year. It’d been bad enough, explaining why he _still_ couldn’t stick around after shows, and they’d only even accepted it in the end because, according to Steph, it gave him an ‘air of mystery’ that worked with their ‘brand’.

But being late? Not so much.

So here he was in Hell’s Kitchen, hoping to get some help.

There was a pretty blonde woman sitting at the desk in the front room, and she smiled at him when he tentatively poked his head in. “Hi there, can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, still looking around as he slowly crept into the room. She seemed amused at his hesitance. “I need a lawyer?”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, picking up a pen. “What’s the situation?”

“Well,” Peter said, once he’d ascertained that Matt was definitely in the office on the left, listening in. “See, I’ve been personally victimized by several superheroes in the last few weeks.”

The woman set her pen down. “Oh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said, waving his hand. “Spider-Man is just a tool. And I’m pretty sure Iron Man has x-ray vision in that suit. I want to file a sexual harassment thing there. Can you help me?”

“I’ll take him in here.” Matt had appeared at the office door on the left and was wearing that faint smile he always had when dealing with Spider-Man. Peter could never tell if it was a good thing or not. Time to find out.

Once the door was firmly closed and Peter was seated in the client chair, twiddling his thumbs, Matt sat down as well. His expression hadn’t changed. “What can I do for you, Peter?”

Peter had been alarmed the first time Daredevil recognized him out of his suit, when they’d both been passing through the lobby at Stark Tower. Finding out that Matt was blind went a long way toward explaining why the spandex didn’t exactly hide his identity, and the man at least knew how to keep a secret, thankfully.

“Well,” Peter said, nervous and well aware that Matt could tell. “I was hoping you could do me a teeny little favor?”

Matt cocked his head. “Let’s hear the favor first,” he said, ever the lawyer.

“I just need someone to cover my usual areas between seven and eight pm on Thursday and Friday nights,” Peter explained, then bit the inside of his lip. Matt frowned, and Peter hurried to add, “I’m willing to do some kind of quid pro quo, especially if you don’t ask why.”

The last thing he needed was a super coming to one of their shows uninvited and finding out just how many songs Peter had written about them all. It would be... incredibly embarrassing, especially since a few of them were pretty popular.

“What kind of quid pro quo are we talking?” Matt asked, leaning back in his chair and directing his absent gaze just above Peter’s head. He liked to pretend that meant Matt thought he was taller than he was.

“Uh, I don’t know, reciprocity on a different day?” Peter asked. “I could work up some kind of tech for you if you want. Make me an offer.”

“What about Deadpool?” Matt asked, instead. “The Human Torch? I know you’re friendly with both of them.”

Peter winced. “Johnny can’t guarantee he’d make it every time, and I don’t want to ask Wade because he’s a lot less likely to accept no explanation than you hopefully are?”

He added a big smile and two thumbs up at the end of that sentence, just for good measure. Blind or not, Matt got that little smirk again. Peter decided to assume it was a good thing.

“Reciprocity would be fine, but it would be on short notice,” he said, after a moment of measured silence.

“If I’m not in classes or at work or-- doing the thing I’m asking you to cover for,” Peter agreed.

“I have to admit, I’m curious,” Matt said.

“It’s dumb,” Peter assured him. “You would not be satisfied by the answer. It is so dumb. I cannot express that enough.”

Matt laughed, a quiet little sound that made Peter think that maybe they were on better terms than he’d thought. “I’m willing to accept that for now.”

Peter let out a huge sigh, his whole body deflating with it. “Thaaank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, Spider-Man,” he said. “Now, if that’s all?”

“Oh yeah,” Peter said, getting to his feet in a hurry. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Try not to harass my secretary on your way out,” Matt said, standing up with him and walking him to the door.

Peter grinned sheepishly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He gave the receptionist a polite nod as he passed, and she nodded back, looking bemused.

* * *

**Tuesday, June 17, 2014: 11:15 pm**

Today was a bad day. It had taken Peter completely by surprise, like a sledgehammer to the face in a bouncy castle, because it hadn’t been so bad last year. He’d thought he was okay, now.

Which of course was why he thought it’d be fine, to go visit Gwen’s grave this morning for the first time in almost two years. Gwen had died four years ago, today, when he was just finishing his first year of undergrad.

As it turned out, Peter hadn’t been nearly as okay as he’d thought. He went through his classes in a daze and nearly ruined three batches of phosphatidylinositol at the lab before Dr. Turpin threw up his hands and sent him home early.

A whole afternoon stretched out in front of him with no structured work turned out to be the worst possible antidote to his mood. He wrote and rewrote an incredibly crappy, morose song that he’d probably end up burning next time he looked at it, broke a guitar string, and ignored his phone until he realized that most of the people calling also knew where he lived.

By that point, it was just barely getting dark, so he put on his suit and left to take his mood out on the criminals of New York.

Which, well. Had also been a mistake. He broke up a fight behind a bar and broke someone’s arm in the process. After that, he did his best to stay in the air and keep moving until he was exhausted enough that he wasn’t thinking much about anything. He landed on a roof and sat with his head in his hands, just for a breather. He still didn’t want to head home. It was way too early.

“Thought you were headed somewhere important, with how fast you were goin’,” Wade said, a bare ten minutes later. Peter hadn’t noticed him coming, and didn’t react. If his spider sense didn’t care, he didn’t either. “I was all ‘look, it’s Spidey!’, and the hot dog guy was all, ‘No way, _esse_ , you’re nuts,’ and I am, ya know, but I _knew_ what I saw, so I blew that hot dog stand (metaphorically speaking, yeah, I know), and managed to track you allll the way down here, an’ I was like, ‘Spidey’s on a mission, I gotta go help him,’ but then I realized you were headin’ the wrong way for any really cool disasters, coz baby boy, nobody menaces Mount Vernon, and we’re nearly outta functional webslingin’ buildings.”

He sat down next to Peter and seemed to be studying him as he spoke, if the prickling feeling of being watched was anything to go by. Peter had his head resting on his knees, arms wrapped loosely around the whole useless mess, and he wasn’t looking up to check. A flash of light suggested that Wade had his phone out, and he very suddenly fell silent. For about a minute, Peter wondered if he had decided to leave, or had fallen off the edge of the roof.

“Wasn’t your fault, ya know,” he said, proving that he was still there, and Peter tensed. Wade had said that to him before. Four years ago, in fact.

Peter assumed that his silence spoke volumes about his unchanged opinion on _that_ comment. Wade heaved a big sigh, and before Peter could move or even blink, he was unexpectedly wrapped up in a tight embrace that smelled of gunpowder and nachos.

At first, he didn’t react, too busy fighting off the urge to burst into noisy tears. That was something he _hated_ about hugs. People (with the exception of Aunt May) didn’t usually hug him unless something bad had happened, and it inevitably made him want to fall apart. He inhaled slowly and silently, determined not to.

Peter’s tense frame and lack of reaction clearly unnerved Wade enough that he thought he’d gone wrong, because he started to pull away.

“I didn-- uh,” Wade hesitated when he noticed that, although Peter hadn’t hugged back, he was holding on with his sticky fingers and remaining quite firmly in place. “Whelp,” he said after a moment, then let it drop, pulling Peter back in again. Peter could only be thankful for his mask, which hid his burning cheeks. He hadn’t lost control of his sticking powers like that in years.

The hug, while emotionally compromising, did help a little, and Peter managed to unstick and snake his arms around Wade’s waist, deciding that he would solve the issue of eventually having to be embarrassed about this by simply never making eye contact with Wade again. The masks would make it pretty simple.

After a long silence, Peter finally summoned up the energy to mumble, “She was my girlfriend.”

He could feel Wade nodding against the top of his head. “Yeah, I kinda figured it was somethin’ like that,” he said.  “Still wasn’t your fault.”

“It kind of definitely was,” Peter replied, gripping the leather belt at the base of Wade’s spine so tightly he could hear it creaking.

“Take it from me, Spidey,” Wade said. He sounded uncharacteristically tired. “It’s always my fault. I know what that looks like. And this ain’t it.”

Peter didn’t have an answer for that, but something about it inexplicably loosened his shoulders. His chest still ached, but the wound-up feeling he’d been carrying around all day started to seep away. He felt less alone.

Eventually, he had to let go and hold himself up, and it was nothing more than a pathetic self-pity that made him wonder why he couldn’t ever just keep what he wanted. Who he wanted.

He banished the thought firmly, and refused to acknowledge it again.

* * *

**Wednesday, June 18, 2014: 1:55 am**

Not even an hour after Peter and Wade parted after wasting a good portion of the night on that roof, Wade sent him a picture of himself.

To be clear, the picture was of Spider-Man. It looked like something taken from a camera phone.  And it was really more of a meme.

The photo was of Spider-Man looking out over the edge of a roof, taken from below and gesturing at something emphatically. Peter didn’t remember when it could’ve been taken, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Deadpool had been involved somehow. The text over the photo read ‘It’s my money and I need it now!’

It was so absurd and unexpected that Peter just sat there on his futon and giggled over it for longer than he was willing to admit.

He replied with _-lol what??_

In response, Wade sent another one. This was a photo that Peter had actually taken himself, for the Bugle, of Spider-Man flying past a building on a web. The text read ‘Watch out for that tree!!’

Peter snorted and shook his head, then texted back,

- _Can I assume you have a lot of these?_

Peter’s phone buzzed, and he opened it to find another picture taken from a camera phone, of Spider-Man lifting a car above his head. Peter did remember that, but he hadn’t realized anyone had been taking pictures. The text said, ‘Bro, do you even lift?’

_Did you make all of these?_

Finally, Wade replied with actual words.

 **_The internet is a weird place, Spidey!  
_ ** **_I love it so much._ **

Peter considered googling Spider-Man for about thirty seconds, then decided he was better off not knowing.

And anyway, Wade sent him enough ‘Spider-Memes’ (his words)  to last a lifetime that night, some of them truly awful. Peter fell asleep with a half smile on his face, and the memory of the graveyard that morning didn’t bite at him quite as much as it had.

* * *

**Saturday, August 23, 2014: 9:14 pm**

“This one is for a friend,” Peter said into the microphone, shifting his grip on his guitar. “Don’t be surprised if he blows it way out of proportion, everyone. Just remember, Johnny, you’re not that hot.”

Out in the anonymous crowd, someone (Johnny, certainly) yelled, “Boo! Your puns are dumb!” 

The crowd hooted and hollered, siding with Johnny like they always did when he showed up, the traitors. Peter grinned.

“The joke’s on you,” he said, and then the band launched into [a song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_YlZ1JdcVk) so stuffed with fire-based wordplay that Steph had begged him to reconsider. Peter (who couldn’t resist)  had told her the flames of Hell couldn’t stop him from playing this song at a show at least once, and she had thrown up her hands and given in.

Fortunately for Peter, the crowd ate it up, which could have had something to do with Johnny’s over-the-top, _fiery_ excitement at having his own song. And he loved the dumb puns. Peter had known he would.

In between sets, while Peter was leaning against the bar, drinking a bottle of water and scrolling through the conversation he’d had with Wade on his birthday, Sergio reappeared from the room behind the stage and demanded, “Did you know Spider-Man’s here?”

Peter coughed some water down the wrong pipe and had to take a second to clear it. “What?” he asked, looking around for Johnny and wondering what the hell he’d done, now.

“Yeah, everyone’s saying he’s here somewhere out of his suit, to see the show!” Sergio looked positively delighted at the news, and Peter had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Dammit, Johnny.

“Wow,” Peter said, striving to look impressed. Sergio shoved his shoulder.

“Hey, this is awesome news. People are gonna talk about this, Pete. It’ll draw a crowd.”

“I’d rather _we_ draw the crowd,” Peter said, frowning. Sergio shrugged.

“Nah, man. Our job is to keep the crowd once we get it.” He paused, eyeing the people milling around. Some were dancing to the music playing out of the overhead speakers. Peter knew Sergio was trying to figure out who it could be, and it kind of made him itch. “And I’ve gotta ask. Did you really write a song about him, too?”

Peter felt himself flushing faintly. Dammit, Johnny. “Uh, maybe.”

Sergio thought about it for a second. “Ohh, [Ride with Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KL_dI3GtB4o) _?_ ”

Peter nodded, far more embarrassed than Sergio could imagine. ‘Admitting he used to sell his own selfies’ embarrassed. Johnny was such a dillhole.

Peter was going to have to start talking to people about the songs he’d helped write that _weren’t_ about supers. There was one about [Flash Thompson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trinU3VD1Zo), for example. It’d gone over pretty well, especially since he was able to think about him with more empathy than bitterness these days. He’d even managed one recently [about Gwen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBFdX37Qpnk) that wasn’t in a minor key, after a long talk with MJ and another slew of memes from Wade.

“So... do you know what he looks like? Under the mask?”

“Nope,” Peter said immediately. “No idea.”

Sergio eyed him skeptically. “Can you at least tell me if he’s really here?”

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep an eye out and I’ll let you know at the end of the night.”

Apparently, that was good enough, because Sergio grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hell, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you're keeping an eye out for the links within the story! Those are the songs Peter 'wrote'.
> 
> Some of you may have noticed in the last chapter that Felicia breaking up with Peter was coming, which means you'll know that there's a lot more to it than he realizes.
> 
> Johnny's song: Something from Nothing, Foo Fighters  
> Ride With Me: Ride, by the Vines  
> Flash's song: The Red, Chevelle  
> Gwen's song: Doesn't Remind Me, Audioslave


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

[ _Can’t you see the sky is not the limit no more?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _I can see the elevator crash through the floor_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Monday, September 22, 2014: 1:06 am**

Wade showed up to patrol one night looking rougher than usual. Not necessarily physically banged up, but maybe emotionally? Peter watched him make his half-hearted jokes just long enough to finish up with the hapless mugger they’d stopped from harassing an older woman. The guy looked like he was on way too many drugs to know what he was doing, and it made Peter a little sad.

They were both in an unusually somber mood when Peter webbed up to the roof, then webbed Deadpool’s wrist to tug him up as well.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, because he had never known Wade to respond well to subtlety.

“It’s nothin’.” Wade said.  Then he scowled and continued before Peter had a chance to press. “It _is_ nothing, shut up. I’m fine. Don’t sass me.”

Wade didn’t often talk to himself like this anymore. When he and Peter had first met, there was a lot of externalized internal chatter there that Peter had learned to parse for the occasional smidgen of relevance to whatever they were actually talking about, but mostly it had seemed like Wade was just having two conversations at once. It had calmed over the years for reasons Peter had never been privy to, but ‘the boxes’ seemed to come back a little when he was upset or stressed.

So Peter felt justified in his concern when he said, “Wade, come on. You can tell me.”

The white, blank eyes of Deadpool’s mask stared him down for a full minute before Wade seemed to collapse in on himself.

“Bein’ a hero is hard,” he said, sounding so defeated that Peter was worried for him.

“I know,” he agreed. “What happened?”

“I was-- there was this--” Wade waved his hands around in agitation, then finally spat out, “Some people just need to die!”

Peter took a reflexive step back, his heart dropping. Had Wade--

“Did you kill someone?” he asked. Wade had been doing so well, it’d been _so long_ since Peter had even _worried_ about it...

“No!” Wade said, throwing his hands in the air and starting to pace. He didn’t sound happy, either. He sounded like he’d done something _disappointing._

“Well, but that’s good--” Peter started to say, but Wade wasn’t having it.

“Oh, sure, Spidey. Well, since you’re the real hero here and you’ve got it all figured out, you gotta tell me what to do when I come across a-- a-- _cesspool_ in a human body an’ I’m supposed to-- what?”

“Turn them in,” Peter said. He wanted to put a hand on Wade’s arm to calm him, but suspected that might only make matters worse.

“Sure! And what about all the cesspools that are above the law?” Wade demanded. “What about the ones nobody will arrest, who can pay their way out of trouble or hide behind whatever organization wants them protected, or are just too fuckin’ _slippery_ to pin a charge to? What about the ones everyone _respects_ so much, they blame the victim for gettin’ hurt?”

Peter was glad he was wearing his mask, because he knew his expression would betray him otherwise.

“Wade, it’s not our right to decide who lives or dies--” he started, feeling the enormity of this conversation in the hollow space in his chest. He didn’t want this to be the moment when Wade backslid into the morally repugnant habits he’d dragged himself out of. The cesspool, like he’d said.

“Yeah, I know, Spidey, I know what you’re about to say,” Wade said. He had raised his voice, though not so much with anger as hysteria. “But what if you’re on that fuckin’ trolley?”

Peter blinked. “That-- what?”

“The goddamn trolley!” Wade repeated. “You’re on a trolley and it’s barrelling toward a dude who’s stuck on the tracks. Do you derail the trolley and kill the five people inside? Or do ya let the trolley run that dude over?”

Peter stared at him. “I jump out of the trolley and stop it from running anyone over, because I’m Spider Man.”

Wade laughed. It was short and hollow. “Course you do,” he said. “But Spidey, if you’re just a normal dude and not fuckin’ perfect, what would you do? Who d’you save? How d’you know that one guy’s not gonna.... gonna --” He choked for a second. “Cure cancer or something? But then, what about all the other people? Can’t measure the value of a human life, right? We don’t know what someone’s worth until they prove it, and doesn’t that just mean that not all life is created equal? If we can’t measure it? It means some people are maybe more valuable than others, doesn’t it?”

Peter followed along slowly, frowning. “Have you been... reading philosophy textbooks?” he asked tentatively. Wade ignored him.

“But then we come back to that fuckin’ cesspool again, Spidey, coz those people out there, pedophiles and-- an’ rapists and genocidal _monsters_ , how much more can they prove what they’re worth? How many times does that fuckin’ future science genius have to die by _their_ hand before we realize they don’t give a flyin’ fuck about that goddamn trolley and get _rid_ of them for the sake of the rest of the world?”

“Wade, everyone can change,” Peter said, feeling inadequate against the force of the sheer _distress_ in the lines of Wade’s entire body. “People are _always_ capable of better. You have to give them the opportunity.”

“Not everyone, though!” Wade exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air again. “And how many goddamn chances, Spidey? Where’s the line? How high does the body count have to be? When do I get to unalive somebody for being the next fuckin’ _Hitler_?”

“You _don’t_ ,” Peter said, hearing the strain in his own voice, now. “You help them to become a person who doesn’t want to _be_ the next Hitler. That’s just it, Wade! You don’t add to the problem by ending human lives like they don’t _matter._ You have to be _better_. You have to try to make the world a place where people don’t _want_ to do things like that, don’t just _get away_ with things like that, and stop them when you find them, and either trust the system to do its job or _fix_ _the system_.”

Deadpool had stopped his agitated pacing before Peter finished, and was just staring at him now.

“Duty, then,” Wade said. He spoke softly enough that Peter thought the words weren’t for him, at first. “Baby boy, you’re too good. Without qualification. Intrinsically, ya feel?”

Peter could feel himself blushing, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really,” he admitted. Wade just shook his head.

“I still think the world needs people to do the dirty work,” he said, pulling out a knife and fiddling with it before putting it away again. Peter disagreed, and in fact felt that this directly opposed what he had _literally_ just said. The only reason he didn’t cut in to try to drive the point home again was that Wade was still talking. “But I said I wanted to be more like you, and I do, still. So I can’t be one of those people, anymore.”

Peter’s shoulders relaxed in a rush, and he beamed under his mask. Crisis averted. Somehow.

“So tell me,” Wade said, and now that all the outrage and hysteria were gone from his voice, he just sounded sad. “What do you do when you find somebody who’s above the law?”

It felt safer now, Peter thought, to touch Wade. He stepped up next to him where he stood near the edge of the rooftop and took one of his large hands, to stop him from where he’d been fidgeting with the skin of his wrist through a hole in his sleeve. It was bleeding now, and it hadn’t been earlier.

“People who think they’re above the law need to be dragged back down under it,” he said simply. “You’re a smart guy, Wade. Nothing’s impossible if you put your mind to it.”

* * *

**Tuesday, October 21, 2014: 12:49 pm**

The nice thing about the Avengers was that, while they usually ignored the smaller scale crimes that Peter dealt with on the daily, they could generally be trusted to handle any extreme situations, like, for example, midday alien invasions.

It was really convenient for Peter to not have to skip class at the first sign of a Skrull invasion in Brooklyn.  Sure, he was a little antsy, kind of guilty, and he definitely wasn’t paying attention to a word out of the professor’s mouth, but the fact remained that his secret identity wasn’t going to be preserved if he dashed off every time someone tweeted about a disaster. There just weren’t enough people in his grad program for him to blend into the background anymore.

He was going to have to call in sick to work, though. The Skrull weren’t going to be safely rounded up in an hour like the tribbles had been (yes, someone had mentioned their real species name to him, and no, Peter didn’t care. They were tribbles).

He sat waiting until class was over, tapping his pen against his thigh impatiently.  The girl next to him gave him an irritated glance, but Peter was following his twitter feed (#NYCinvasion) under his desk, and ignored her.

Class ended, finally, and Peter decided that skipping his appointment with his advisor was unlikely to be suspicious. He sent Dr. Vemuri a text from the roof of the coffee shop across the street from campus while he was changing, and took off toward Brooklyn without waiting for a response.

The Skrull were generally tricky shapeshifters, something Peter had found out the hard way during their last invasion. He didn’t need anyone assuming he was one of them and trying to shoot him out of the sky.

“Hey!” Peter shouted mid swing as he chased Iron Man down a well-battered street. A couple reptilian creatures below shot at him, and Peter twisted and dodged, not surprised when Iron Man also turned on him. “So, Skrulls, huh? You got a captcha for me or what?”

“You know, all this shapeshifting really makes you think,” Iron Man said, hovering mid air and watching Peter land on a roof in a defensive crouch. “How would a Skrull even know what you look like under your mask? And why would they bother if none of us know, anyway?”

“Well, I’ve got my powers, and this great body,” Peter offered, standing up and putting his arms akimbo, shoulders back. “So I guess all you can do is have faith in the mask, right?”

“That webbing isn’t part of your powers, is it?” Iron Man asked, his mask opening up to reveal a shrewd expression. “I thought it was synthetic.”

“It is,” Peter agreed. “But they’d need super strength and practice to use it like I do. I can crawl down the wall for you, if you need more proof. You’re gonna have to watch my back while I do it, though.”

“Your powers aren’t convincing enough. How about that captcha?” A screen appeared above his wrist, a series of images flashing by in a fifteen second loop. “How many of those were photos?”

“Three,” Peter said, his own phone in his hand as he scrolled to a (really well done) drawing of himself standing next to a food cart in his suit, eating a hot dog. “How about _this_ , Iron Man? If that is your real name.”

“It isn’t,” he responded dryly, examining the picture. “You commission that, kid?”

“Why would I do that?” Peter asked, suddenly wondering if Wade _had._ “Someone sent it to me. The internet is a weird place.”

“Uh huh.” A panel slid back on Iron Man’s suit, and an earbud fell out into his hand. “Keep that on and try not to get killed, got it?”

Peter beamed as he took the earpiece. “Got it! Do we have a strategy?”

“They don’t seem as organized as last time,” Iron Man said, glancing out over the rooftop as Peter put in his earpiece, clearly anxious to get back into the fray. Once it was in, his voice crackled in Peter’s ear, and he took off.

“We think this is a splinter group of some sort. We need to round up as many of them as possible before they start shifting into lamp posts and mailmen.”

“You think they will?” Peter asked, following and webbing an unsuspecting Skrull in the eyes when he got the chance. Iron Man followed his shot with an ion blast, and the Skrull went down and didn’t get back up. “You’d think they’d invade quietly if that was the plan.”

“I think they’ll use it as a means of escape once they realize they’re not winning this battle. We’ve got Reed working on an easier ID method, but right now we need as many of these bastards dead or unconscious as we can.”

“Got it,” Peter said, and, debriefing over, they split up at an intersection without another word.  Peter had a small fanboy fit (internally, because of the earpiece) when he was patched into the main frequency and was able to listen in on Captain America conferring with Scarlet Witch about a situation two blocks down.

Peter spotted a Skrull running toward an alley, and managed to web it back in his direction before coming down from above and kicking hard enough to send it reeling into a car.

“Livingston--”

“I’ve got it--”

“--Tony, where the hell have you been?”

“--Spider-Man showed up, had to sign him in and give him his name tag--”

“Hi everyone!” Peter chimed in cheerfully, neatly snapping a Skrull’s wrist as it started to morph its hand into a distressingly long sword. “It’s your bonafide friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here, definitely _not_ a Skrull invader. I’m willing to answer as many invasive personal questions as you’d all like to convince you.”

“We don’t know the answers to any of those questions,” someone said. Peter suspected Falcon.

“This is like that brain in a vat thing,” Peter said, thoughtfully slamming two Skrull heads together and leaping out of the way as they struck back. Wade had decided he liked the philosophy, apparently, because he hadn’t shut up about it after their little debate last month. Peter couldn’t help it if some of it stuck. “How do any of us know that anyone else is alive at all? And if they are, are they Skrulls?”

“Spider-Man, can you be serious for a minute?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, stringing the two Skrull up by their feet and knocking them out once and for all. “Life is a mystery.”

“You wanna come be mysterious over by the Starbucks, kid?”

“I can see three from here,” Peter reported, once he was up in the air. “Wanna be more specific?”

“Fulton Street.”

“On my way!”

* * *

**Wednesday, October 22, 2014: 8:21 pm**

The Skrull had kicked Peter’s ass, in the end. He kicked theirs right back, and the Avengers were going to have to pry that earpiece out of his cold, dead hands if they didn’t want Peter to keep it, but it might be a little easier to do with his newly broken arm and black eye.

He might have a limp, too, but he was making a solid attempt to pretend he didn’t. The concealer over his eye for Wednesday night practice was not his best effort, since he had to use the wrong hand to do it, but the black eye would be gone by tomorrow. All the little cuts and bruises were mostly healed by now. The broken arm, however, had already been giving him trouble at work, and now--

“Holy fucking shit, Peter, what happened to you?”

Jimmy and Steph looked up from their instruments, startled. Sergio had already dropped his guitar on the couch and gone straight to Peter’s side as he carefully descended the last step into the basement.

“I’m fine,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. It only hurt a little. “Got mugged.”

“You got attacked, more like it,” Steph disagreed, and all three of them were crowded around him now, matching looks of worry on their faces. “Peter, you have to move.”

“I like my place,” Peter said defensively. “East Harlem is nice.”

“East Harlem is right across the river from Mott Haven, and _neither_ of them is _nice,_ ” Sergio said. He went for Peter’s arm, saw the way he was holding it, and grabbed his shoulder instead, dragging him over to the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“What is this, the sixth time you’ve been mugged this year?” Jimmy asked as they lowered Peter onto the couch. He really didn’t want or need the fuss, but let them do it anyway. He had a feeling that was the normal thing to do. “That’s gotta start to outweigh the cheap rent after a while.”

“It’s really cheap rent,” Peter confided, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the couch. It did feel nice to sit down. “And I’m careful.”

“This is you being careful?” Steph asked, poking Peter’s arm where he’d been holding it carefully against his chest. He hissed and curled in on himself a little, and she tsked. “Come on, Peter, let’s see it.”

“It’s not broken,” Peter said, even though it was. It wouldn’t be next week, and he didn’t need to explain that away.

“Yeah, whatever you say, dumbass,” she agreed, pressing an ice pack over his eye. He lifted his uninjured arm to hold it in place, and Sergio unzipped his hoodie and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Hey, I’m not that kinda girl,” Peter grumbled. He was ignored.

“I think we’ve got some ACE bandages in here somewhere,” Jimmy called from the other side of the basement. Peter heard footsteps. “Got ‘em. Jeez, Pete, how many were there?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, vaguely. He bit down hard on his lip as Steph tugged his arm out of his sleeve. “At least eighty.”

“Oh yeah, I believe it,” Sergio said, close to hand. Peter peered out at him from behind the ice pack and watched him unrolling the bandage. “And you should see how bad they look, _eh vato_?”

“That’s right,” Peter agreed. The Skrull were all either locked up or dead. Not that Peter had taken them all on alone, but still. They were definitely looking worse for the wear.

“Maybe ice this too,” Steph said, once they’d wrapped his arm up tightly. It actually felt a lot better, so Peter lowered the ice pack to his arm and gave them all a grateful smile.

“Guess we’re not practicing today, huh?” Jimmy asked, dropping into the nearby armchair.

“I’ll order more pizza,” Sergio said, settling down next to Peter and pulling out his phone. Steph, on the other side of him, sighed and swiped hers open, too.

“I’ll cancel the gig on Friday night.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter offered, wincing at the realization that it had been a good one, too. Well paying.

“Not your fault, Petey,” she said, giving him another once over. “But if you’re really sorry, you’ll start looking at listings.”

* * *

**Monday, November 17, 2014: 9:48 pm**

“I got my tickets,” MJ announced when Peter picked up the phone one night, after deciding this was _not_ a patrol night. This was a ‘pass out at ten with the tv on’ kind of night, because Peter’s optimistic thoughts about getting _more_ sleep back when he’d first started grad school seemed _laughable_ about a week in, let alone a year and a half later. He had to _grade papers_ sometimes. That alone took up a huge chunk of time.

“Awesome,” Peter said, buried under a mountain of blankets in bed and wondering if his web shooters were close enough to hand that he could use them to nab the remote. They were not. He wrinkled his nose and gave up. “What are the dates?”

“I’ll get in on the 19th and leave on the 5th,” she said. Peter could hear rustling in the background on her end. It sounded like she was putting away groceries.

“Wow, you’re gonna be here for a while,” he commented.  The show he’d been watching ran out of episodes, and Golden Girls popped up next in his Netflix queue. Peter started to reconsider how cold it was outside of his blanket cocoon. Surely he could just grab the remote really quickly and be back under the blankets before he even felt it? “Should I think about buying an air mattress?”

“I’m doing a few auditions while I’m there,” she said. “And I’m planning on staying at Aunt May’s house. She already said I could.”

Peter made an affronted noise. “I am shocked, MJ. Shocked and appalled. I offer you my hospitality, the use of my _only_ home, and you ditch me for an older woman?”

“Don’t you get me started on that little cubby you live in,” MJ said, sounding like she was already started. “Peter, you’re not a broke college kid anymore. You have a real job. Get a real apartment. Or at least a real bed.”

“But I have student loans,” Peter moaned. “So _many_ student loans. I’d rather live here and eat like a king than starve in a slightly bigger place.”

MJ tsked. “At least promise me you’ll buy an industrial sized space heater before I arrive, or I can guarantee I won’t even be visiting your cubby, no matter how much food you have.”

Peter poked his head out from under the blankets and looked around his ‘cubby’ for the remote. His eyeballs felt cold. Was that normal? “Uh, yeah, you know what? That’s a really good idea,” he said, giving up and curling under the blankets again. The opening lyrics to ‘Thank You for Being a Friend’ started up. “Although, actually, I’ll have to check with my landlord. A space heater might trip the breakers.”

MJ was silent for a second, then sighed, long and loudly. “We’re going to look at apartments while I’m there.”

“You find something better in this price range and I’ll sign the papers that day,” Peter said, thinking back on last month and wincing. His bad neighborhood was a really solid cover. He’d kind of hate to lose it.

“Agreed,” MJ said instantly. There was a short lull in the conversation, and then she said, “Was that Betty White?”

Peter flushed and shrugged. “I dunno.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Peter, tell me you’re at least watching Hot in Cleveland or something.”

“I’m not watching it on purpose,” Peter said, properly embarrassed now. “I didn’t, you know, turn it on. It just came on and I can’t find the remote.”

“Uh huh,” said MJ. She didn’t sound convinced.

“And anyway, I can watch whatever tv shows I want,” Peter said. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“So you’re not sitting there, moping about Wade right now,” MJ asked, skeptical.

“I do not-- I have not _moped_ about Wade in a while!” Peter thought he had a right to feel a little defensive, here. He was _fine._ He and Wade were _fine._

“Peter,” MJ said gently. “Last time we talked, you spent twenty minutes speculating about why Wade didn’t want to go eat with you after patrol the night before.”

“MJ, that was _weird_ ,” Peter said, shaking his head. “He _always_ wants to go eat. He usually suggests it himself. And! It turned out that he was late to go talk to some people at SHIELD, which, I think I’m impressed? Depending on what they wanted. He won’t say until he gets an answer from them, I guess, but I think--”

“ _Peter,_ ” MJ interrupted. “This is what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not over him, tiger.”

Peter hesitated. “Yeah, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well... but...”

“Sweetheart,” she said. “You have to talk to him.”

Peter burrowed deeper into his blankets in denial.

“I’m serious,” she added. Peter grumbled.

“I can’t,” he said. “There’s no logical reason to do it now.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”

“No, listen, I’ve thought about this,” Peter said, because he had. A lot. “He’s _told_ me he’s not interested.”

“He told you he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable about him hitting on you,” MJ corrected. “And I thought we already agreed that he probably said that because of the age thing.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut. “And I’m _still_ too young, MJ. And he... he wasn’t joking about the age thing. It’s not flexible. I’ve tested it.”

He’d spent months _casually_ making comments about celebrity couples who were on all variations of violating the stupid rule, and the only ones Wade had seemed less bothered by were the super old people dating other slightly less (but still) old people. It was a hard and fast line. A horrible, but solid thing. Peter could do nothing but accept it for what it was. Worse than that, after researching all those mismatched couples, he found that he was starting to see Wade’s point. Which only annoyed him further.

“Okay, but still,” MJ said. “You could--”

“If I bring it up, he’s going to tell me I’m too young for him,” Peter said, closing his eyes. “It’ll be a no. I don’t want that. And I’ll never know if it could’ve been a yes later, if I just waited.”

She sighed. “Peter, you could just ask him. Talk to him about it. Tell him you understand, but you want to know if you’re _wasting your time_.”

That was the last thing Peter wanted to ask. The answer very likely included pity. And a yes. That was not the yes Peter wanted, but he was starting to worry that he’d taken Wade’s excessive friendliness and professional admiration a little too seriously. Wade was there when Peter needed someone, and Peter wondered if he, lonely and hurting as he’d been the past few years, had gotten a little more attached than he should. He didn't need the confirmation.

“I’m not wasting my time,” he said instead. “I’m fine. It’s not like I’m just sitting here, waiting. I’m happy. I like my life.”

“Well... good,” MJ said. She didn’t sound sure about it, but that was ok. “I just don’t want you to pin all your hopes on him, and then find out you shouldn’t have.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter repeated. With a little half-smile, he added, “If nothing else, it’s great fodder for lyrics. All this [angst](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSeu7ZKbEBA).”

“Oh yeah?” MJ asked, allowing the subject change. “Will I get to see you play while I’m in town?”

“Once or twice, I think, yeah,” Peter said. “I’ll write you a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTH71AAxXmM). Something you can dance to.”

“Sounds fun,” she said, her voice warm. “Make it a good one, tiger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade’s ethical crisis was brought to you by Kamm, Bentham, and Kant. Also, I feel like I recently read a fic where Peter and Wade have a similar conversation about the trolly problem, so if you know which one, let me know and I'll link here! Because I'm basically positive they thought of it first.
> 
> And I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you that MJ’s song is ‘[Fell in Love with a Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTH71AAxXmM)’ by the White Stripes.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

[Are you coming on to me?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Friday, November 28, 2014: 10:33 pm**

“Hey...” A guy approached Peter cautiously where he was sitting on the side of the stage during the first break, retuning his guitar. It had sounded a little off during the last couple songs. Peter looked up at him with an expectant smile. “Uh, Johnny Storm wanted me to tell you that Winston’s here.” He leaned in, and asked with hushed excitement, “Is that Spider-Man’s alter ego? You can tell me, man, I’ll keep it a secret!”

Peter frowned. “No, I don’t know his alter ego,” he said automatically. Winston? Who could Johnny possibly be talking about--

Peter blanched very suddenly. Wade Winston Wilson. Wade Wilson. Wade. Was here. Right now? He looked up at the guy, who was watching him avidly. “Um, thanks,” Peter said, fitting his guitar back onto the stand and pulling out his phone to text Johnny.

_HE’S HERE?!!_

**_yeah, man. figured ud wanna no._ **

_Do you know how long?_

**_Didn’t ask, sounds like he’s seen ur band b4 tho._ **

_Oh god. Do you think he knows?_

**_Idk? I’ll check+lyk.  
_** **_Dude don’t panic._ **

Peter started to panic. Wade was _here._ To see the band Peter was in. Play music. Some of which was written specifically about _him_.

At least four or five songs, in fact, and... Peter mentally ran over the set list in his head. Two of them they’d already played. And they’d be playing at least one more before the end of the night.

_I’m panicking._

**_kinda figured. he doesn’t know._ **

_Are you sure??!!_

**_Yep. He digs the tunes tho  
_ ** **_seemed confused 2 see me.  
_ ** _told him ur my photographer n he said ur cute af.  
_ _Ur welcome._

_What’s he doing here anyway??_

It took Johnny a minute to respond, and Peter sat anxiously staring at his phone for every second of it.

**_LOL he says he and Spidey took out a bad guy here once and he likes it now._ **

Peter frowned until he remembered the incident with the Rhino. The realization that this was that bar had him grinning and looking around with new appreciation even as nerves clawed at his stomach. He didn’t end up spotting Wade in the crowd before their break was over, and the lights shining on the stage made it pretty difficult to keep looking once he absolutely couldn’t stall any longer.

"Hey, you okay, Peter?" Jimmy asked, sliding around him to get to his own instrument. "You're lookin kinda nervous."

"Everything's fine," Peter said, more to himself than to Jimmy. He got a skeptical frown in response.

"Well, break a leg, or whatever."

"This isn't Broadway, man," Peter said. "But thanks. You too."

He couldn't see further than a few feet out from the stage. Usually, the buffer between them and the crowd helped Peter to pretend that no one was there at all. It was like wearing his mask on patrol; it gave him the confidence to pretend he wasn't gross-sweaty-palms-nervous about what he was about to do. It was a lot harder now that he knew Wade was out there watching, but he forced himself into that frame of mind, then stepped up to the microphone and said, “Hey guys, we’re Curious Liars.” A decent portion of the crowd shouted and whooped. “Look for us on facebook and, uh--” he glanced back at Steph. “Twitter? Do we have a twitter, guys?”

“Tweet tweet, motherfucker,” Sergio put in helpfully at his own mic.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Peter said, grinning. “This next song’s for Erica and Joe, our extremely attractive bartenders. If you haven’t paid them a visit yet, you should. And tip them, you filthy animals.”

Everyone over at the bar cheered as the music started, and Peter felt a like he’d distracted at least a little from who this song was actually about. It made him feel better, at least, even if no one else had a clue.

* * *

**Saturday, November 29, 2014: 1:14 am**

The rest of the night went just fine, and they finished their last set with a sizable crowd still in attendance. The lights went down, and a DJ took over while Peter, Steph, and Jimmy started breaking down their equipment.

Sergio returned from where he’d disappeared to when everyone else started working, forgiven only because he was bringing drinks.

“Here ya go, Petey,” he said, setting a bottle of water on top of the amp Peter was pretending to have difficulty with lifting.

“Gee, thanks,” Peter said dryly. He hefted the amp and carefully left the water balanced on top.

“Need any help?”

The water, predictably, went sliding off the top of Peter’s armful, and he closed his eyes and took a calming breath before turning around. Wade was there, in casual clothing plus his mask and gloves, having just stooped over to pick up Peter’s water.

“I’m fine,” he said, staring. Jeans and a hoodie looked good on Wade.

“Grab the bass drum,” Steph said from behind Peter, taking the offer at face value. “And if you drop anything--”

“We really appreciate the help,” Peter interrupted, before Steph could threaten a world famous mercenary. Ex-mercenary? Still.

Wade hefted the drum carefully onto one shoulder, then looked around, picked up another amp, and followed Peter toward the back, where Steph’s SUV was parked. Peter was trying not to panic again. What did he want? Had he realized who Peter was?

But Wade was chattering away cheerfully and showed no sign of knowing anything he shouldn’t.

“Loved the show! You guys are awesome! I liked that thing you do where you’re like ‘Deeehnahneeeehhanneeeeee! Bahnahnah!”

“Yeah? I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Peter said, smiling.

“And you’re a great singer, but you know I gotta ask. Do you photograph everyone? Like, J-Storm said you do pics for him and Spidey, and I’ve seen some of your shit, man, top quality, very good work. Spidey’s ass has never looked better on camera, lemme tell ya. Almost as good as the real thing.”

“His-- what?” Peter flushed dark crimson, a shocked little thrill shooting through him. Wade hadn’t mentioned Peter’s ass to him in actual years. It should be bizarre that he was so reassured, but he was.

“Yeah, ya know,” Wade said. “It’s a pretty exceptional ass. A plus. An’ I mean that in the least creepy way possible. I know him. Like, we hang out. I’m Deadpool! In case ya’ didn’t recognise the mask. So it’s not as weird as it could be, honest.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Peter said. They reached the vehicle and Peter carefully loaded the amp into the back. They’d pulled the seats out a long time ago, and installed straps to keep things from shifting. It just meant that two of them generally had to either sit on the floor or find their own way to and from gigs. Peter never had a problem with it, personally.

“But really, uh, Parker--”

“Peter,” he interrupted, feeling another thrill at getting to introduce himself to Wade, whether or not he’d already heard it during their performance. Even if it wasn’t _official_ , it still felt important. “My name’s Peter.”

“Peter,” Wade repeated, grinning. “Do you shoot for the other supers? Coz it sounds t’me like you know ‘em all pretty well.”

Peter froze for barely a fraction of a second, then kept adjusting the strap he was working on. “What do you mean?” he asked, then gestured for Wade to bring him the bass drum.

“Some of those songs,” Wade said, and crap, _this_ was what he should’ve been worried about earlier. Wade was smarter than he let on. Peter should’ve known he’d pick up on the subtleties of some of their music. Particularly the stuff Peter had a big hand in. “You’ve got one about either [Black Widow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTbB703XZFM) or the Winter Soldier, but I’m betting it’s Romanov. Which is totes badass, b-t-dubs. You guys are brave. An’ I’m pretty sure if ya squint, there was a tune in there with Cap’s name on it.”

Trying to deny it would only make things worse, Peter could tell. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I hang out with Johnny and Spider-Man sometimes, and they tell me stories. They’re good stories, you know?”

“Oh em gee,” Wade said, putting his hands up to his mask like a young Macaulay Culkin. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Pete. Petey. Are you sayin’ you’ve seen Spidey without his mask?”

Peter went a little wide eyed. Wade wasn’t going to ask for information, was he? “Nope,” he said, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. “I have no idea who he is or what he looks like, I only see him in his mask, and--”

Wade lifted his hands placatingly, then sort of glanced around the deserted alley they were in behind the bar and took a big step back. “Hey, man, it’s okay,” he said, somehow suddenly looking very nonthreatening. Peter wasn’t sure how he did it; maybe something in his posture. “I’m not lookin’ for deets. I get you’re probably not allowed to say nothin’. S’probably for the best. Don’t need an innocent cutie like you walking around advertising free Spidey info with kidnapping.”

Peter bit down on his lip a little too hard, nodding. He’d take it. Wade pulled open the door, and they both went back inside.

“You gotta tell me, though,” Wade said, before they reached the stage again. “He’s not really good lookin’ is he?”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked, perplexed. Had Wade just assumed that Spider-Man was ugly? That hurt a little.

“I mean, we’re not talkin’ like ten out of ten, intimidatingly hot, ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ kind of good lookin’ are we?”

Oh. He’d over-assumed instead. That was somehow worse. “He’s pretty average looking. Mid-range, I think.”

“You talking about Sergio?” Jimmy asked as they neared. Sergio’s head popped up from the other side of the stage.

“Hey, I’m at least an eight and a half, _puta,_ ” he said, gathering a couple guitar cases to take outside.

“Sure you are, buddy,” Peter replied, grinning. Sergio walked away muttering to himself in Spanish.

Wade snickered, possibly at what Sergio was saying. Did he know Spanish? Peter had always thought he just knew all the words for the food he liked. It made sense, though, him knowing other languages, what with all the out-of-country travel he did. Peter ought to ask as Spider Man. But then, maybe he shouldn’t. It’d be strange that he suddenly thought to ask, wouldn’t it?

“So, Peter,” Steph said as she passed, her arms full as well. “You staying tonight, or are you gonna run off again?”

Peter hesitated, and Jimmy jumped on the moment of weakness.

“Come on, man, we gotta treat this guy to a drink for helping us load up.” He gestured at Wade, who gave them all finger guns and a grin behind his mask. “And you’re the super-magnet in the group, so you gotta stay for at least the one.”

“Yeah, which are you, anyway?” Steph asked Wade, who looked a little let down that she didn’t recognize him.

“The name’s Deadpool, at your service,” Wade said, unfailingly upbeat anyway. “I’m a friend of Spidey’s. I was just curious to meet the dude who does his glamour shots.”

“I don’t do that so much anymore,” Peter admitted. “But I do kind of have to g--”

Steph and Jimmy both blew raspberries over his last couple words, and Peter contrived to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, guys. I’d stay if I could.”

In reality, he wanted nothing more than to flee immediately. Peter had imagined meeting Wade without his mask on before, but he’d never realized quite how... deceptive it would feel. Every word out of his mouth was stacked on top of a growing pile of lies, and he hated it. It sucked having to prevaricate to the band about where he was going at night, but at least he wasn’t lying that he _did_ have to go. But since he and Wade had started talking, Peter hadn’t been able to speak more than a full sentence without lying to him, blatantly. It made him feel dirty, and not in a good way.

The band cheerfully verbally abused Peter for the length of time it took to finish packing away their equipment, quite used to Peter bailing on them. Wade joined in, though his contributions were more along the lines of the gentle teasing you’d expect from a friendly new acquaintance. It was almost sweet. Part of Peter did want to stay, just to continue soaking in Wade’s presence in a different context. He felt like he was learning new things about Wade, just by dint of spending time with him as a different person.

But that, too, felt dishonest.

Peter did end up buying a drink for Wade right before he left, because he didn’t want to come off as an asshole and he _had_ appreciated the help. As he left the group at the bar, he overheard Sergio say, “Yeah, we’re about ninety percent sure he just goes home and goes to sleep when he begs off like this. Petey’s kind of a nerd.”

* * *

**Sunday, December 21, 2014: 11:45 am**

MJ’s favorite coffee shop in New York was in Manhattan, so Peter met her early in Queens (had breakfast with Aunt May), and they took the subway into the city together, so MJ could have a look around and see what had changed in the past few years.

“It’s pretty obvious to me he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” MJ told Peter as they sipped their coffees and wandered toward Times Square. “I mean, Peter, his role is my boyfriend, but he just glares at me every time the cameras start rolling.”

“Maybe his real girlfriend drank the last of the OJ that morning and he was projecting,” Peter suggested. MJ laughed and elbowed him. “Maybe he’s constipated? Or his character is?”

“I didn’t read that in _my_ script,” she told him, still smiling.

“He’s a method actor,” Peter said, nodding. “Your character should offer him some laxatives.”

“I think you’re confused by how this acting thing works, tiger,” MJ said, finishing off the last of her coffee and dropping the cup a trash can as they passed.

“I think he’s the one who’s confused,” Peter disagreed, tossing his own cup after hers. “Do it for the vine, MJ.”

She laughed. “We can’t have our cell phones on set.”

Peter hand waved her objection. “Fine, YOLO. That one doesn’t need a camera, right?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

“You’re lying, but I’ll take it.”

The weather was nice enough for December that their brisk walking pace kept them warm, and they chatted idly during their walk until they passed a row of posters advertising live music, and talk turned to the band.

“When’s your next show?” MJ asked, gesturing.

“Friday,” he said, making a face. “I guess it’s good press to do shows the day after Christmas, ‘cause not all bands are willing to.”

“Gee, I wonder why?” MJ said, dryly.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” Peter admitted. “Classes are out until January, but I’m back at work that day anyway.”

“They’ve got you working the day after Christmas?”

Peter shrugged. “Some of the experiments are time sensitive. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on them. That’s what interns are for.”

“That’s still too bad,” MJ said, taking his arm and guiding him into a store devoted entirely to sunglasses.

“It’s literally December,” Peter pointed out, and got a scowl from the woman at the counter for his trouble.

MJ was unmoved. “Exactly. Discounts!”

He followed her with a sort of resigned air over to a wall, where she started modeling pairs for him as they talked.

“Think Wade will be there?” she asked, looking at him through a pair of huge, bug-eyed glasses. Peter wrinkled his nose at her. “I want to meet him if he is. See what all the fuss is about.”

“He might be, I dunno,” he admitted. “Wade’s kind of unpredictable. I don’t even know when he’ll show up, you know, normally.” On patrols, he knew she’d understand. “He mentioned it to me the other day.”

“What?” MJ asked. She’d picked out a new pair now, and was examining herself in the mirror. “The band? Like, to _you_ or--”

“While we were working,” Peter clarified. He picked up a pair of sparkly red bug-eye glasses and tried them on. “Said he met my Annie Leibovitz.”

MJ snorted. It should’ve been undignified, but she was the kind of girl it just looked cute on. Peter couldn’t help grinning in response. “He’s really something, isn’t he?” she said, looking up at Peter and his glasses and descending into a fit of giggles. “Take those off right now or I’m taking a picture.”

Peter folded his arms and made his face as serious as he could. She snapped a picture, then he took them off and continued, smiling a little. “I guess he likes us. I couldn’t stop making Hannah Montana jokes in my head while he was talking about it.”

“That makes me Lilly, right?” MJ asked, turning her camera around and snapping a picture of herself in the current pair she was wearing. She examined the picture for a second, then nodded decisively.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Peter said, following her over to the counter. “It also makes me a prepubescent girl, though, so...”

The woman at the counter gave Peter another stern look, and MJ kept her silence while she paid. Once they were out the door, she started giggling again.

“You make a great prepubescent girl,” she said after a while. “You’ve got the chest for it and everything. I bet you’re a B cup.”

Peter put a hand over his eyes. “I asked for this,” he said from under his gloves.

“You really did,” MJ agreed, and they kept walking.

* * *

**Friday, December 26, 2014: 10:15 pm**

“Peter!” Peter looked up from where he was waiting at the bar for a bottle of water (Sergio was always trying to get him to drink during shows, but Peter was a self-described stick in the mud and had managed to resist so far), to see MJ waving at him from the other end of the bar. She was standing between Johnny and Wade, grinning like the cat that got the canary.

Peter abandoned his water and hurried over, a little terrified to find out what _that_ group might’ve been talking about without him there.

“MJ, you look great,” he said, pulling her in for a hug and whispering, “ _Are you insane?!_ ”

She did, in fact, look gorgeous, with her red hair all loose and wavy, her clothing perfect as usual. It was a far cry from the bright pink and yellow pyjamas she’d spent Christmas wandering around Aunt May’s house in. Johnny might’ve been drooling a little.

“Johnny and Wade and I got talking,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And it turns out we _all_ know the lead singer!”

Peter glared at Johnny, who shrugged.

“I should’ve guessed right away that you were _that_ MJ,” he said, lifting his drink in her direction. “Peter did say you were beautiful.”

MJ went a little pink, and Peter resolutely turned his (somewhat nervous) gaze to Wade, who made a very subtle gagging motion behind his drink. Peter bit down on a smile.

“We were all just talking about how great your band is, tiger,” MJ said sweetly to Peter, gesturing at Wade and Johnny both. “You guys really have a stage presence.”

Peter relaxed a little. “Yeah? Thanks, MJ.”

“You know,” MJ said to Wade, “He told me he didn’t know why nobody minds when he’s late getting here from work.”

Wade, who had been looking like he didn’t know why he was there, grinned at her wicked expression. They clinked their glasses together. “We know why,” Wade agreed. “And he can take as long as he needs.”

Peter felt like he might need to start worrying again. “What are you getting at?” he asked, looking between the two of them, then to Johnny for clarification. “What are they getting at?”

Johnny shrugged and took a long sip of his drink, looking like he wanted to laugh. Jimmy joined them and offered Peter the bottle of water he’d abandoned earlier. Peter opened it with a nod of thanks and took a long sip, still waiting for an answer.

MJ was grinning like the Cheshire cat now. “Wade said it best earlier, I think. Wade?”

“Well,” Wade said, right on cue. “It’s like this, Petey-pie. You come rushin’ in all outta breath in your fancy button up and tie, and those nerdy-ass glasses of yours--”

“Hey,” Peter said, and got shushed by MJ for his trouble. Jimmy looked between the four of them, starting to frown. Wade held up his hands, palms out.

“I’m just settin’ the scene,” he said. “So you get up on stage as nerdy-Pete _. And then-_ ”

“Uh, wow, look at the time!” Jimmy interrupted suddenly, looking at Peter. “I think we have to get back to the band!”

Peter frowned. “What? We still have another ten minutes.”

“Yeah, but uh, band meeting?” Jimmy tried, looking shifty. Peter narrowed his eyes. MJ was watching with one hand covering her barely-restrained grin, which only _proved_ to him that something was up.

“I want to hear this first,” Peter said. Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“Steph and Sergio are gonna kill me,” he said, looking around as though he might spot one of them.

“For what?” Peter demanded, feeling his face start to go pink. He had a feeling this was going to be embarrassing.

“Fuck, just tell him, whatever,” Jimmy groaned. “I don’t even care.”

“Tell me what?” Peter asked, looking around at the rest of them. Wade looked just as amused as MJ, if maybe a little more sympathetic.

“Weeeellll,” he said, “I mean, you gotta know it’s hot, Petey.”

Peter was right, this was about to be embarrassing. “What is?”

“Ya know,” Wade said, grinning. “You take off the glasses, then ya take off the tie, all nice and slow...”

Peter’s eyes widened. He had been so, _so_ right.

“And then the shirt, right, and it’s like you’re strippin’ out of that nerdy dude and we get to see the super hot rock star dude underneath with all the muscle and the sweat and the sexy.  Lemme tell ya, Petey, I came for the music the first time, but I kept comin’ for the music _and_ the show, if you know what I mean.”

Peter mouthed wordlessly for a few long seconds, then whirled on Jimmy, who quailed and stepped slightly behind Johnny.

“What the hell!”

“I’m sorry! Steph and Sergio said it was good for our brand!”

“Sex sells,” Johnny chimed in cheerfully.

“The crowd loved it!” Jimmy agreed, nodding. “Please don’t be too mad. We really do have to go back on stage in like eight minutes.”

Peter looked around at all of them, shaking his head. “You know,” he said, taking Johnny’s drink out of his hand. He paused as he downed what was left of it, then handed it back. “I thought you guys were my friends.” He took MJ’s drink and did the same. “But now I see you’re all just bad people.” Wade and Jimmy gave their drinks up voluntarily, and Peter finished them, too, with a small shudder. “Bad people,” he finished, then took his water and left, his dignity tattered but intact.

It would remain that way, too, if he tried not to think too hard about what he’d just been told. Or who had just told him.

He could think about that later. At home. In bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews!! You guys are great.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

[ _I can still see yesterday, sailing away_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _Seven billion people who’ve got nothing to say_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Sunday, January 11, 2015: 11:42 am**

“Spidey! Spider-Man! Hey! Slow down! Spidey!”

Peter frowned and doubled back toward the street he’d just passed on his way to Aunt May’s. Whoever was calling him wasn’t in trouble; his spider sense was quiet.

It was Wade. Peter frowned as he dropped down to the sidewalk, stepped out of the way as someone tried to walk around him, and said, “You know, this is usually how people get my attention when they want to shout at me or get my auto--”

Wade thrust an A4 sized photo of Spider-Man into Peter’s hands along with a sharpie. “Get to it, Spidey, I’m in a hurry.”

“Um,” Peter said, blinking at Wade in confusion, which was when he realized the photo wasn’t the only piece of Spider-Man memorabilia he had in that... pink gift bag? “Deadpool, what are you doing?”

“Well, you weren’t responding to texts and I need to be somewhere important by one, so I figured--”

“You texted me?” Peter asked, shifting his grip on the sharpie to pull out his phone. Sure enough, he had twelve missed texts from Wade alone, and a couple more from MJ and Sergio. “Must’ve put my phone on silent, I’m sorry--”

“Spidey, it’s fine, you’re a delight, you’re great, but I need you to hurry up and get with the John Hancock,” Wade said, offering a pair of socks next.

Peter signed the photo, still confused, and took the socks next. “You want-- on the socks?” He held them up. They were tiny. “Wade, these won’t even fit you. What are you doing?”

“They’re a present,” Wade admitted, after a short pause. He glanced around, looking unexpectedly uneasy, and said, “Either stop asking questions, or--”

“Oh,” Peter said, realizing that they were very much in public. A group of tourists were moving toward them, talking excitedly about autographs. “Yeah, come here.”

Wade stepped closer and Peter wrapped an arm around his waist, trying not to think too hard about how comfortable it was to be pressed against his side. He handed the socks back and webbed them away, to a building with a particularly inaccessible roof.

“Okay, who do you know with size three feet?” Peter asked, taking the socks back and examining them. Wade shoved the sharpie into his hand again, and Peter uncapped it and considered how to sign something so floppy.

“They’re... for Ellie,” Wade said, turning his back to Peter as he checked the roof for eavesdroppers. Peter took the opportunity to press the socks against his back and sign them. Wade waited patiently for him to finish, then turned back around and took them back, tucking them into the bag with exaggerated care.

“And Ellie’s... a very short friend of yours?” Peter prompted, taking the little Pop Cap figure that Wade handed to him next and carefully signing its arm.

“No,” Wade said, next offering a travel mug. Peter admired it for a moment. He hadn’t realized there was this much merch out there with his logo on it. He really ought to figure out how to profit from it one of these days. “Fine, so she’s pretty short. I guess. Yeah.”

“Who is she?” Peter signed the cup and gave it back.  Wade was already unrolling a poster. Peter scowled at it. He had taken that picture! Surely, he should be getting royalties from at least that end of things.

“On this one,” Wade said, holding the poster taut and very decidedly not looking at Peter, “Write, ‘Happy Birthday to the coolest ten year old in New York.’”

“Ten year old?” Peter echoed, staring. Wade shifted. Everything about his posture screamed anxiety. “Wade, how do you know any ten year old girls?”

“We’re related,” Wade said, his voice low and quiet, as though they still might be overheard. “It’s fine, okay? It’ll be fine, we trust him.” Peter frowned and stepped in a little closer. He steadied one of Wade’s arms so he could start writing, and found that he was more tense than Peter had realized.

“She’s...” Peter hesitated. As far as he knew, Wade didn’t have any family. But then, they’d never really talked about it, had they? Not beyond the fact that they’d both been orphaned at fairly young ages, but that was hardly... this. “Your niece?”

“Daughter,” Wade corrected, and Peter paused in his writing to instead reel with shock.

Wade had a daughter. Deadpool had a daughter. A ten year old daughter. A child. Which meant--

“In New York,” Wade said, and Peter frowned up at him. Wade gestured to the poster with his chin, and Peter realized he’d never finished writing. He completed the message and signed, mind racing.

“It’s her birthday today?” Peter asked, feeling faint as he recapped the sharpie.

Wade nodded. “Party’s at one. I was worried I wasn’t gonna find you before then. Thanks, Spidey.”

“No problem,” Peter replied automatically. “I’ll be more careful about muting my messages from now on.” He hesitated, then added, “Can I ask... is her mom--”

The idea that Peter had been mooning after a married man for this long was potentially too much to stand, and he could feel something cracking as he fumbled for words.

“She’s been dead a long time,” Wade said before Peter could finish, causing him to struggle with equal parts relief and self-disgust for feeling that good about an innocent person's death. He had to pay attention, though, because Wade was still talking. “Ellie was living with her abuela. I found her about three years ago. Couple months after her seventh birthday?  Yeah, that sounds right.”

Three years ago, a couple months from now... Peter didn’t have to think too hard to remember that as the time Wade went missing for _weeks_ and came back with rubber bullets.

He remembered hoping that maybe that had had something to do with _him_. He felt a flush of embarrassment crawl up his neck at the disappointment he felt at the realisation. Of course Wade had decided to make such a big change for his daughter. Wade only saw Peter late at night. They didn’t even spend that much time together. He had a whole life Peter didn’t know about. Peter just wasn’t that important to him, in the grand scheme of things.

And now he needed to smack some sense into himself for feeling jealous of a _ten year old girl._

“That’s... uh.” Peter cleared his throat. “Wow. I didn’t know about that. That you-- I mean, I’m sorry about her mother, I--”

“No worries, Spidey,” Wade said. The poster was all rolled up and securely stowed in the little pink gift bag. “Just remember. You got your name and face you wanna keep quiet, and I got mine. Or, ya know. Hers.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, of course. I’d never-- yeah. Totally.”

Wade glanced around one more time, then grinned at Peter through his mask. “Gotta go change before the party,” he said. “See ya, Spidey.”

“Tell her happy birthday from me,” Peter said, watching as Wade adjusted the little teleporter on his belt and wondering if he took his mask off in front of his kid and her abuela. Who was Peter kidding, of course he did. They were his family. His real life.

Wade saluted, then vanished into thin air, and Peter just stood there in the cold for another ten minutes, trying to shake off the shock so that he wouldn’t have to explain what was wrong to Aunt May.

* * *

  **Saturday, January 31, 2015: 9:10 am**

“Now, I’m just checking: you get that this place is for kids, right?” Johnny asked as they stood in line at the Hall of Science to buy tickets.

“Science is for all ages,” Peter disagreed, crossing his arms. “And they have a new exhibit on chemistry in photography, okay? It’s cool.”

“New question: you know I actually _was_ one of the cool kids in high school?” Johnny asked, looking around the entrance hall at all the under-eighteens running around. “I’m not buying this ‘education is fun, learning is rad’ nonsense. I know better.”

“People don’t say ‘rad’, Johnny,” Peter said. They were next in line, and he might have been bouncing a little with excitement. He hadn’t been here in years. Uncle Ben used to take him every few months when he was a kid, and it’d been too long since he’d allowed himself to think about the good things he missed, and still enjoy them. He was going to enjoy this.  “Especially not scientists.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Johnny said as Peter stepped up to the counter. He put on his best nerdy white boy voice and called,  “Gosh, learning is neato!”

Peter waited until Johnny had his ticket in hand and they were walking toward the first exhibit to say, “You’re a dick.”

“I’m a jock,” Johnny corrected, grinning and stuffing his ticket in his pocket. Peter placed his more carefully in his wallet, rolling his eyes.

“Well, there you go,” he pointed out, gesturing at the Preschool Place. “That’s more your grade level. Want me to drop you off in there? Maybe you’ll learn something.”

“Hur hur, so funny, Johnny must be dumb coz he doesn’t wanna learn on a _Saturday_.”

Peter laughed and happened to glance to the side, immediately distracted by an exhibit on microbes. “They updated this too!”

“This is gonna be one of those days, isn’t it?” Johnny asked, trailing behind Peter with his hands in his pockets. He watched for a moment, then rolled his eyes and stepped up to examine the display.

“Tell me honestly,” he said, after having fiddled with it long enough to have learned something, if Peter wasn’t wrong. “How much of this do you already know?”

“What?” Peter asked, looking up from the puzzle game. “Most of it. What do you mean?”

Johnny gave him the most exasperated stare Peter had seen on him in a while. Peter straightened up defensively and led them over to another exhibit.

“Oh come on, I’m sure you know everything there is to know about baseball, but you’d still probably want to go to the Baseball Hall of Fame.”

“First of all,” Johnny said, peering at the neurons that kept flashing across the screen as he pressed buttons randomly. “I do not know that much about baseball. I’m not obsessed with baseball, man. I don’t know where you’re getting this information. But even if I was, I’d just be walking around that Hall of Fame, being all, ‘Babe Ruth was a fake, did you know he took steroids?’ And then I’d be ruining it for everyone else.”

“Babe Ruth didn’t take steroids,” Peter said, confused. “Did he?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny declared. “See? Point is, if I knew, I probably wouldn’t go to a museum about it. Coz I’d already know.”

“Yeah, but...” Peter said, shoving at Johnny to get him to stop touching things. He wanted to actually use it, not screw around. “If you actually liked baseball, you wouldn’t feel that way. And explaining things the right way in a science museum wouldn’t be obnoxious, people like that. They even hire people to be Explainers.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Johnny said. He waited until Peter had nearly completed the neural pathway, then pressed another random button and ruined the whole thing. Peter scowled at him.

“I went with you to your auto show last month,” he said, putting up a warning finger. “We’re staying here until I’ve had fun. If we have to eat dinner here, we will.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Johnny said, dropping his head and trudging along after Peter to the next display. “I’m gonna die here.”

***

They did, in fact, have lunch at the cafe inside the building, and Peter got to see his photography exhibit. Johnny, who was less of a loser than he pretended to be, actually found a few displays that kept his interest, including the rocket park and the gingerbread houses, to Peter’s amusement.

“This one looks a little like what Reed’s working on right now,” he said as they stood in front of the android exhibit. He pointed out a chassis that looked interestingly like a species of alien Peter knew he’d seen before, but couldn’t name, and they both peered at the label. “Reed’s is cooler,” Johnny said, after a moment. “Pretty sure this one doesn’t have lasers.”

“What’s he planning with laser robots?” Peter asked. “That sounds suspiciously villainous.”

“The lasers are for construction,” Johnny said, making a face. “He likes the bio-whatever of the Mantos, he’s trying to duplicate their whole situation, you know. For worker robots in space.”

“‘Their whole situation’,” Peter repeated, grinning. “We can go back to the biology hall, if you want.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna agree to that,” Johnny muttered. “We’ll never get out of here before closing if I let you backtrack.”

Peter calmly didn’t mention that he had no plans to go anywhere before closing unless Johnny picked him up and carried him out of the building, and instead said, “What do you think? Mini golf or sports?”

“What?” Johnny got a look at the sports exhibit and started walking ahead, curious. Peter followed him to the pitching challenge.

“Not a fan of baseball, huh?” he asked. Johnny made a rude gesture, glanced around to see if any kids had noticed, and threw his first ball. Peter stood back and watched, willing to let a crowd of ten year olds steal his spot in line.

A little girl with curly dark hair ran past, and Peter’s mind immediately leapt to Wade’s daughter. He’d managed to casually ask about the party a few days after Wade’s revelation, and was treated to a slideshow of pictures of Ellie eating cake, Ellie opening presents, and Ellie whacking a pinata with what looked like impressive force.

Peter, who was instantly won over by how cute Wade’s kid was, had commented that she had Wade’s smile, because she did. Wade’s surprise and obvious pleasure had been--

“Hey, Pete, wipe that dumb look off your face and get over here!”

Peter blinked and glanced around to see that Johnny had moved all the way over to the race challenge.

“It’s getting embarrassing, losing to these kids,” Johnny said, gesturing to the little entourage he’d somehow picked up when Peter wasn’t paying attention. They all giggled and jostled each other, shouting about who had beaten him _best_. “I know for sure I can beat your puny ass.”

“Don’t swear in front of children,” Peter said, even as he took his spot at the starting point and decided that Johnny was going to have to cheat and use his powers if he wanted to win.

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Johnny said. He pointed at one of the shorter ones and lowered his voice. “That one called me a bitch when I let him win. I think they know all the bad words already.”

* * *

  **Saturday, February 7, 2015: 11:26 pm**

“--and then I was like ‘Not today, mother hugger!’ and I _leapt_ down from the window, and all the little gang-bangers were screaming and shooting and running and I just John McClane’d the _shit_ outta them, and Spidey was like ‘Oh em gee, Deadpool, you _saved_ me and all these school children, my hero!’ and then--”

That was _not_ how Peter remembered this particular fight. Like, at all. There were definitely no school children, for starters, and Peter hadn’t needed saving so much as backup.

He didn’t say a word, though, content to sit at the bar and nod and listen to Wade wildly distort their team-ups to make himself look cool.

“And then I grabbed Spidey and got outta there and the whole place just _exploded_ right as we were walking away--”

“I’m not buying it,” Peter interjected, just to screw with him. That _had_ happened, even if it had been a different time and the warehouse had been empty.

“I’m not makin’ this up!” Wade insisted. “Bein’ a superhero is _awesome_ , Petey, and sometimes it means you get to do cool action movie shit in real life, you dig?”

Peter shook his head, just because he could. “Spider-Man never talks about that stuff.”

“That’s coz when Spidey was little, somebody took away his Wheaties and made him eat humble pie for breakfast every morning.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said, bemused. “Are you calling him lame? Is that what that means?”

Wade leaned in a little closer, and Peter’s heart thumped loudly. “Listen, don’t tell Spidey, but--”

“Nope,” Peter said, pointing at him. “We talked about this, Wade.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Wade wheedled. Somehow, Peter _knew_ he was making sad puppy eyes, even with the mask in place.

“If you tell me, I’ll tell him,” Peter said firmly. “So don’t tell me if you don’t want him to know.”

That might’ve been the best idea Peter could’ve had regarding Wade’s now-regular appearances in his unmasked life. It significantly reduced the guilt of spending time with him without him knowing who Peter was, at least, and it cut down on the question of _his_ knowledge of things Wade said versus Spider-Man’s.

“Fine,” Wade said, pouting. “You can tell your Spider-boyfriend he _is_ lame, then.”

Peter blinked. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he said, then spotted Steph waving at him over Wade’s shoulder. “Gotta get back,” he said, finishing his drink and smiling one last time at Wade before he hurried away.

“Jeez, Peter, could you have a bigger boner for that guy?” Steph asked, handing him the revised list for their next set.

Peter nearly dropped the list. He could feel a dark flush spreading over his cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice feeble.

“Whatever you say,” she agreed. “Just tell me honestly. Do you have some kind of weird superhero kink?”

“No,” he said, busying himself with reading through the music and thereby avoiding eye contact. “He’s just nice.”

“Whatever you say,” she repeated, and left him to it. Peter groaned under his breath and tried to focus on the list. If even Steph could tell how badly Peter wasn’t over this, it was safe to say he definitely still wasn’t even remotely over it, no matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise.

It wouldn’t be so bad, if he wasn’t half convinced that Wade might actually go for Peter, himself. MJ even thought it was likely, after having met him.

The problem was, he was more than half convinced that Wade _wasn’t_ interested in Spider-Man. Not romantically, at least. They were great friends, but that seemed like the extent of it.

And which of them had Wade known longer? His opinion about Spider-Man was obviously a more informed decision. What if this was like with Felicia but backward, and Peter had just inadvertently shown him the part of his life he would like, instead of the part that made him turn up his nose?

His relationship with Wade was turning into a tangled snarl of unrevealed motivations and messy feelings. Peter hated it. He didn’t know how to fix it.

* * *

**Tuesday, March 31, 2015: 8:45 am**

Peter generally got up every morning in a bleary haze. He dressed himself with the sniff test (since he was an adult, the questionable clothing was on a hanger, but since he was kind of hopeless at being an adult, it was potentially still dirty) and slung a tie over his shoulder to be put on later. Today, teeth brushed and hair mostly presentable, he was out the door with a travel mug of coffee and his skateboard just in time to catch the subway.

Peter climbed the steps out of the metro at his stop, and was roused somewhat from his half awake daze by his spider sense shrilling at him. He glanced around, spotted nothing out of the usual, and ducked into an alley to change, anyway.

His coffee was going to be cold and gross by the time he got back to it. This had better be good.

When Peter landed on the roof as Spider-Man for a better vantage on whatever the situation was, the sight of Venom menacing a donut shop two blocks down had him exclaiming, “Oh, come on!”

He shot out a web and flew the short distance between them in moments, arriving in time to stop Venom from crushing a civilian’s torso in his clawed grip.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he asked (shouted at) Venom as he corralled him back into the middle of the street, where at least the taxi drivers had taken the hint and given him some space to work.

The man Venom had been after tried to make a run for it, but Venom’s brand of webbing shot out and pinned him to the ground.

“Venom,” Peter demanded, landing on his shoulder and punching him in the side of the head just to get his attention. He was too grumpy at the moment to make any little jokes. “It is eight in the morning. Why are you like this?”

“Crime never sleeps, Spider-Man!” Venom declared this while batting a hand out and flinging Peter several feet into a newspaper box. Oh, the irony.

“Well, maybe crime should consider it?” Peter asked, picking himself up and webbing Venom’s arm. Once he had it caught, he tugged it back again to prevent him from battering the civilian he’d managed to capture. Everyone else had well and truly cleared out of the way by now. “Maybe then, crime wouldn’t be so cranky and might stop attacking innocent civilians?”

“This man is no innocent!” Venom said, trying again to reach him. The man in question looked terrified out of his mind. “He’s murdered countless people and harmed dozens more!”

“Do you mean, like, just now in the donut shop?” Peter demanded, restraining Venom’s arm again with all his effort. “No? Then there’s no reason to cause a scene and stop all these nice people from getting to work on time!”

“He deserves to die!”

“He deserves to be turned in to the police!” Peter shouted back. “Why is everyone so against due process these days?”

“Spider-Man is right, Venom.”

Peter looked around for the new voice and found _Captain America_ approaching them, his hands held out to Venom as though approaching a wild animal.

“No one person should be made judge, jury, and executioner,” he continued, his voice deep and calming and _iconic_.

Peter kept it together and said, “Hey! Cap! Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but am I the only person who thinks it’s a little early for everyone to be wandering around in spandex and leather?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Captain America said dryly, glancing at Peter briefly. Venom seemed torn about what to do next, and Peter took advantage of his uncertainty to drag him a few steps further away from the civilian criminal he’d been after.

“We’ll make sure he’s punished,” Peter said to Venom, hoping his words would reach Eddie. “But this is _not_ the way to do it.”

Captain America must’ve seen something in Venom’s stance that reassured him, because his next words were, “If you’ll come with me, back to--”

Peter’s spider sense _shrieked_ at him, and suddenly he was flying through the air, on course to slam into a lamp post. He shot out a web and corrected his trajectory so that he rolled harmlessly over a truck (they could pop out the dent later), and leapt back up to find Venom long gone.

He sighed and dusted himself off as he walked back over to where Cap was standing, next to the criminal.

“Sorry about that,” Cap said, and Peter shrugged.

“Can’t say I was looking forward to forcing him to do anything, with just the two of us,” he admitted. “He didn’t kill anybody, at least, and now he has the Captain America Seal of Disapproval on doing this again. That might count for something.”

Captain America ripped the black webbing from the criminal’s leg and hoisted him up to his feet. Street and foot traffic had resumed as though nothing had happened. Peter gave himself a point for little to no property damage. No one used those newspaper boxes anymore, anyway.

“You still think he’ll turn over a new leaf?” Cap asked, and Peter nodded. [Venom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVXIK1xCRpY) remembered being bonded with Spider-Man, he knew it. It made Peter feel responsible, not least because this was someone who knew his identity. Or at least, Peter thought he did. He was ninety percent sure.

“That’s what this was,” he said earnestly. “He wants to do the vigilante thing. He just needs some guidance, that’s all. You know, killing is bad, property damage is bad, justice is good, that kind of thing.”

“If you say so,” Cap said. “Deadpool hasn’t been a problem in years, so I guess we just need to trust your judgement on these things.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, grinning under his mask. “Although that was all him. He’s a good guy.“

Cap smiled back. “I’m sure he is. Now, I should--”

“Oh! Wait!” Peter looked around, patted his pockets, then darted over to the donut shop to steal one of the handwritten signs out of their window. “Listen, I’ve never gotten to actually just _talk_ to you in person and I _promised_ someone I’d get an autograph and I know this is weird but--”

Captain America laughed and patted his own pockets. “It’s no problem, but I don’t have a pen.”

Peter stared around, then looked at the criminal Venom had been after. “Got a pen, buddy?”

He looked uncooperative for a moment, so Peter added, “You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way. If you had a pen, I’d call it even.”

After a raised eyebrow from Captain America, the criminal grudgingly fished around in his pocket and handed over a well-used grease pencil. Cap took it and the paper, sending a quelling glance at the criminal just in case he thought about running off.

“Thank you, thank you,” Peter said, bouncing on his heels as Cap signed just below ‘$5.00 Minimum. No Checks.’ “She’s gonna be so excited.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song about Venom is ‘[Show Me How to Live](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVXIK1xCRpY)’ by Audioslave
> 
> Thank you so much for all the reviews!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the story really starts to earn the M rating. I tried to avoid E, but lmk if you think I failed at that and I can change it!

* * *

[ _I was waiting_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _For my baby to arrive_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _Right by my side_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Monday, April 13, 2015: 2:23 pm**

Dr. Vemuri gave Peter something serious to think about in their last advisement meeting, and Peter had spent the past forty eight hours stressing out about it.

He wanted Peter to consider extending his Masters into a PhD. Which, obviously that would be... well.

Peter had thought, back when he started college, that a PhD was the goal. Now he wasn’t so sure. And no one was giving him any kind of helpful advice at all.

“Whatever you choose, we’ll support you,” seemed to be the common theme between Aunt May, MJ, and even Johnny, who could usually be prevailed upon to _have an opinion_.

Peter was at his wits end. He just wanted someone to bounce ideas off of, but his friends and family were insisting on letting him make this choice on his own.

“Okay, so like, when you decided to become a doctor,” Peter began, ducking one of Doc Ock’s many arms and flipping onto a nearby lamp post. “What were your motivations?”

“Get back here so I can squash you like the miserable bug you are!” Octavius shouted. Peter webbed one of his arms temporarily to the ground and kept moving.

“For real, man! Did taking that final step to the PhD seem, I dunno, like, a crazy idea at first?” he called back from the roof of a truck. “Like, what am I doing? I’m a maniac and a criminal, why am I taking all this time and energy to put a couple of letters after my name?”

“You think you’re funny?” Doc Ock asked, swiping at Peter’s legs and only barely missing.

“No, for real! I’m asking for a friend!” Peter shouted back, managing to web him in the upper half of his face, in the hopes that he might still have something useful to say. “Did you ever wonder if you should’ve done something else? Any regrets?”

“I only regret not killing you when I had the chance!”

Peter paused. “Aw, that’s kinda sweet. I regret our missed connection too, buddy!”

Peter’s calm and thoughtful discussion with Doc Ock didn’t last much longer after that, once the property damage started becoming a more serious issue and Peter had to put an end to things.

He was still thinking about it later that night, after he barely made it to work on time because of the good doctor. He spent his whole patrol worrying about it, too, so it was almost a relief when Wade showed up to distract him.

They were up on a roof somewhere in Midtown, the usual fast food in a bag on the ledge. Wade had been chattering along while Peter contemplated both his options and his taco, and only looked up when he realized they’d been sitting in silence for at least five minutes.

“Wade?” he asked, and relaxed when he realized Deadpool hadn’t just run off on him. He was sitting there, watching Peter instead. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s my line,” Wade said. “I asked you if you wanted to go glitter bomb an orphanage with me and you agreed, Spidey.”

“I did?” Peter asked, feeling a little startled. “I take it--”

“No take backsies!” Wade exclaimed. They stared each other down through the blank eyes of their masks.

“I already started to say it,” Peter said, eyes narrowed. “Totally counts.”

“I _actually_ said it,” Wade replied, looking delighted with himself. “So it doesn’t. Those orphans aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.”

“Wade--”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll donate a buncha money to whichever place we hit, too, happy?” Wade asked, throwing his hands up. “It’ll be like a glittery money bomb. They’ll be super thrilled.”

Peter huffed. That made it harder to say no and Wade knew it.

“Fine,” he said, and had to raise his voice over Wade’s cheers. “But I get to pick where.”

“Yay!” Out of nowhere, Wade produced a handful of glitter and threw it in the air above their heads, letting it drift gently down onto both their suits. Peter tried to lean out of the way, but the wind blew half of it right in his face.

“Augh-- Deadpool!”

“Vermin Supreme for President!” Wade declared, inexplicably. “Now tell your good buddy Deadpool what’s up, Spidey. Or there’s more where that came from.”

Peter brushed at the glitter on his suit for a few seconds, sending up puffs of sparkle into the air. He wanted to be thinking seriously about whether or not he wanted to tell Wade what was going on, but that was stupid. Of course he wanted to tell him. Whether he should was a different story, but doing what he should and Wade didn’t often come hand in hand these days.

“I have to decide if I’m going to keep going with school and get a PhD or not,” he finally said.

Wade gasped. “Ooooooh my god Doctor Spidey is coming true! It’s really happening! You’re gonna have to re-sign all the posters and merch I got Ellie for her birthday!”

Peter smiled a little. “Didn’t we decide on Spidey, PhD?” he asked. “And anyway, I haven’t decided if I’m doing it yet or not.”

“Pfft,” Wade said dismissively. “Why wouldn’t you do it? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s gonna be awesome. You, Doctor Spidey, PhD, are gonna be awesome.”

“I mean,” Peter said, pink and smiling wider. “Yeah, I guess it would be awesome, but... there’s a lot to think about. It’s just pouring more gas onto the tire fire that is my student loans, for one.”

“Worth it,” Wade said. “Won’t you make more money?”

Peter chewed on his lip. “Yeah, I guess so. But what if-- how do I balance _that_ with everything else, I mean... I just...” He clenched his hands together, thinking about the weight of all the _things_ he was responsible for every single day. “I don’t have time to sleep _now._ ”

He sometimes wondered if joining the band had been a mistake, until he thought about what his life would be without it. The prospect was quiet and kind of lonely. Johnny would be the only friend he could spend time with as Peter, and Wade would be... even less accessible than he was now.

“You ever need to take a night off patrol and get some shut eye, baby boy, just let me know and I’ll cover for you,” Wade said, and Peter could tell that this was Wade at his most sincere. “You gotta go be a fancy doctor, and that’s all there is to it.”

The lightness that was ever present in his chest around Wade swelled and clenched, so that Peter had to take a deep breath around it.

It was moments like this that kept Peter from getting over him and moving on. How could he _want_ to get over Wade? It wasn’t possible.

* * *

**Wednesday, May 6, 2015: 3:45 pm**

Peter tapped nervously on the door of his boss’ office, having spent the past ten minutes hovering outside, gathering courage. “Uh, Dr. Turpin?”

“Who is it?”

“Peter Parker, sir.”

Dr. Turpin glanced up and gestured for Peter to come inside. “What do you need, Parker?”

Peter stepped over the threshold and, after a brief hesitation, pulled the door mostly shut. He sat down and watched Dr. Turpin shuffle through the papers on his desk. “I was reading the Employee Handbook, sir, and I just had a couple questions.”

“Go ahead,” Turpin said, making a notation on a page of lab charts.

“I was specifically reading about the college tuition program Stark Industries has,” Peter said, fidgeting the cuff of his shirt. Turpin glanced up at him again, then went back to his writing.

“You don’t qualify, as an intern,” he said. Peter swallowed nervously, and pushed forward.

“Which is why I was hoping to be hired as a-- uh, real employee,” he said. Turpin finally set his pen down and gave Peter his full attention, which Peter was determined to take as a good sign. “According to the handbook, the only difference between an intern who does the kind of work I do and an actual employee is the title.”

“And the hours,” Turpin said, shifting to settle back in his seat. “To qualify for SI’s college tuition program, you need to work a minimum of twenty nine hours a week on average. I was under the impression that your schedule was already full.”

“Oh,” Peter said, his heart sinking. He was currently only at twenty two and a half hours. “I could--” He broke off, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and scrolling to his calendar for September, brow pinched. If he skipped lunch and came in a half hour earlier every day, that’d add two and a half hours, and then... Wednesday through Friday after work were already full, with the band. “What time does everyone go home?”

“We tend to frown upon anyone staying later than nine,” Turpin said. “To foster work life balance, you understand.”

Peter felt the urge to laugh hysterically, and tamped it down. “Yeah. Yeah, makes sense,” he said. Staying till nine on Monday and Tuesday would add another three hours, which meant he still needed to find another hour somewhere.

He just didn’t have it. It didn’t exist. He’d have to talk to Reed about a time machine, just to have more hours in a day.

Peter glanced up at Dr. Turpin, who was watching his building dismay with a tolerant eye. “Your hours can be flexible,” he reminded Peter. “But try not to overreach. The last thing you need is to burn out before you've finished your education.”

Peter nodded and completely disregarded the last piece of advice in favor of the word “flexible”.

They didn’t always have a gig on Thursday nights, which meant he could probably reason with Steph and convince her to only book them every other, but that still meant he needed to find a little more time, otherwise he’d be averaging half an hour under. Unless he cut the travel time between school and Stark Tower by webbing most of the way, and came in fifteen minutes earlier...

“If my start time was flexible, give or take half an hour, I could do it,” Peter decided. He’d find time to do his actual dissertation somehow. Wade had promised to help cover patrol if Peter needed it, and it was looking like he definitely would. He was already cutting back these days, and he couldn't abandon his duties.

But the college tuition program would cover _all_ of his costs for school, _and_ back pay his grad school loans. It’d be a dream come true.

“Do you want to take a day and think this over?” Dr. Turpin offered. Peter shook his head.

“No, I can do it,” he said with finality. He'd just have to, that was all. He only had three more years left of school at most, and once he finished all his classes he’d just be doing research and design for his dissertation. He could handle this now if it meant coming out mostly debt free.

Dr. Turpin gave him a long look.

“Alright then,” he said, picking up his phone. “Head down to Ms. Pierce. I’ll let her know you’re on your way. There’s quite a bit of paperwork involved.”

Peter smiled and stood. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

**Monday, August 17, 2015: 12:02 am**

It was official. Peter was twenty four.

He didn’t realize at first, that midnight had passed. He was on patrol and Wade was out of town and he wasn’t thinking much about his birthday at all, in fact, until he realized that someone had set fire to twenty four lamp posts down Broadway.

Peter rushed around putting them out, and found the culprit by looking around to see which super-dickhead was laughing himself sick nearby.

If any of the newspapers wanted a headline about Johnny Storm’s new villainous proclivities, Peter was going to come out of retirement to offer them a discount on photographic evidence.

“I can see that you think this was witty,” Peter said as he came in for a landing next to Johnny, who was still chuckling to himself.

“Oh man,” Johnny said, grinning. “I thought of the idea, and then I was like, is the property damage worth the lulz? And it was!”

Peter rolled his eyes, and Johnny clapped him on the shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Spidey,” he said.

“You’re an ass,” he offered in return.

***

Much later in his patrol, when things were starting to quiet down and Peter was beginning to realize that Wade wasn’t going to come back early from his SHIELD mission just because Peter willed it, he paused on a rooftop long enough to call MJ and put the headset in his ear.

“Happy birthday, Peter,” she said cheerfully upon answering the phone.

“Thanks,” he said, and he knew he didn’t sound enthusiastic.

“What’s wrong, tiger?”

“Twenty four is a crappy birthday,” he said, taking a sharp turn and deciding to just head home. “There’s no point to it.”

“Oh no, did he--”

“He’s not even in town,” Peter said, before she could continue. He felt like his stomach was in his shoes. “I have no idea when he’ll be back.”

Wade had disappeared on one or two long missions for SHIELD before, and he never knew how long they’d last. The first one had taken two months. The next had only taken three weeks.

So far, he’d been gone two weeks, so Peter wasn’t holding his breath.

Except that he’d kind of hoped that Wade would _want_ to be here, for this particular birthday of Peter’s. It would’ve been a good sign.

“It’s still early, Peter,” MJ said, after a pause. “It’s only the morning of. Maybe he’ll come back tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Peter agreed, though he doubted it. “MJ, I think...”

He fell silent as he landed on the roof of his apartment, and looked out at the early morning quiet of the city.

“I think I may have been wasting my time,” he admitted finally, his voice low.

“Peter,” MJ began. Peter kept talking.

“He gave me an answer, way back when this all started,” he continued as he climbed down to his window. “Remember? You were listening. He didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. And I did.”

“Sweetie, it’s been three years since then,” MJ said. “It’s worth checking in again to see if anything’s changed.”

Peter scoffed. He was inside now, and pulled off his mask. “MJ, what would you do if you told a guy you weren’t into him and he spent three years being your friend and then revealed that he’d never given up hoping you’d change your mind?”

MJ hesitated. “That’s different.”

“How?” Peter asked, pushing his fingers into his hair and gripping tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut too, for good measure. “I think I’ve even heard this story from you before. You thought he was an asshole for it.”

“I thought he was an asshole for getting mad at me for still saying no,” MJ corrected. “I just thought it was... awkward, that he asked again.”

“Awkward,” Peter repeated. “That’s almost as bad.”

“No it’s not,” MJ insisted. “Just... get it all out there, once and for all. Tell him exactly how you feel. Then, if he doesn’t feel the same, you can move on and figure out how to just be his friend.”

“I should’ve been doing that all along,” he said. “I’m so stupid. I’m pathetic, MJ.”

“No, you’re not,” she said gently. “It’ll be okay, Peter. You’ll see.”

“Sure,” he agreed listlessly. They said goodbye, and Peter stood there in the middle of his tiny, crappy little apartment, at four am, alone.

He stayed out on patrol until six am the next night, but Wade never did show up.

* * *

**Saturday, September 12, 2015: 12:16 am**

Peter had been in a terrible mood for the past few weeks. School had just started up again, and now that he was in the PhD program, his classes were more intense than ever, and his TA requirement felt a lot more like teaching under someone else’s name, for all that the professor rarely bothered to show up to class. The band was going as strong as ever, Peter’s new hours at work were harrowing, and Wade’s promise to cover him on patrol if he needed sleep was falling awfully flat, since he’d been gone since early August.

Because that was a good enough reason to be upset that Wade was gone and hadn’t even texted. Not because he wanted to see him and laugh with him and maybe do what MJ said and ask him, once and for all.

Peter was beginning to think it’d be worth the heartbreak, just to know one way or another. It’d get at least one of his worries off his back.

He’d managed to keep himself together at work and in classes, because he was a functioning adult and mostly not a mess of a human being, but Steph and Sergio and Jimmy were starting to notice the strain. Johnny showed up every weekend that passed without Wade’s return and bought Peter sympathy pizza, which... well, he kind of appreciated, at this point, even if he also suspected that they were back to ‘regularly checking in on Pete to make sure he’s not falling apart’. The band spent a lot of time trying to ply him with drinks, which only helped a little.

Mostly, he did his best to not need sympathy from them, because he couldn’t really explain the problem beyond stress, not in a way that they’d recognise as _being_ a problem. As far as they knew, he and Wade had only met about a year ago. He’d just look like a loser with a hopeless crush. He didn’t want to have to admit that that was exactly what he was.

During a break between sets, Peter decided to go track down the bathroom to avoid the questions he _knew_ were coming, judging by the look on Steph’s face.

He was minding his own business, walking down a deserted hallway at the back of the building, when a familiar voice cut through his reverie.

“Hey, Parker.”

Peter turned and found Flash Thompson _right behind him_. His eyes widened and he took a short step back, because never mind that they hadn’t ended things as badly as they could have, and never mind that Peter could take him in a fight easily: this was the man who was once his _very intimidating_ high school bully, and Peter was not at all prepared to deal with him at the moment.

Flash put his hands up, and Peter found himself flinching before he realized it was palms out, nonconfrontational.

“Hey,” Flash said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you, man. I just saw you performing out there and... Jesus. I mean, you were great.”

Peter stared at him, extremely uncertain of where this all was going, but Flash pushed forward.

“Heh, you know, this is the last place I thought I’d see you again, Parker. Weren’t you some kind of science nerd?”

Peter shrugged, despite his continued nerves, and said, “Yeah, well. This isn’t my day job.”

Flash shook his head, as though marvelling at what Peter had said, bland as it was. “Fuck,” he said, then winced. “Look, you know, uh, I know this doesn’t... excuse anything I did to you, but...” He took a breath.

Peter had no reason to think that he was about to get punched, and yet he was somehow still expecting it on some level. Which is why he was more than a little shocked when the next words out of Flash’s mouth were,  “God, you’re still so... I wanna kiss you.”

Peter stared. “What?” he managed, after clearing his throat a couple times. He must’ve heard that wrong.

Flash looked embarrassed. “I know, I’m-- fuck, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have wanted it then, shouldn’t want it now.”

“You wanted to kiss me?” Peter repeated faintly, finding the wall and leaning against it for support. His high school experience was being suddenly and ruthlessly flipped on end, and Flash was just standing there, nodding.

“Fuck yeah,” he said, and Peter had never seen Flash Thompson flush with anything but anger before. Or at least, he thought he hadn’t? “I was a real dick about it, too. I get that. I’m sorry. I had no excuse.”

Peter just stared at him, mouth slightly open. He had literally no tools with which to formulate a response to this.

“I get it,” Flash said again, shifting as though Peter had shouted at him. “I was a piece of shit back then, Pete. I wanna do something for you. I mean. If you’re--” He hesitated and glanced down the hall. “Can I just--”

Peter must have stepped through this hallway into some alternate reality, because now Flash Thompson was dropping to his knees and looking up at him, his fingers drifting toward Peter’s belt.

“Say the word and I’ll stop, I swear,” he said. His fingers came to rest on the buckle and Peter let out a shocked little breath. This was the part where he said something, Peter knew. This was the part where he told Flash he didn’t want or need anything like this for an apology, and they left this empty corridor as they’d found it.

He couldn’t find his voice, and Flash unbuckled Peter’s belt slowly, watching the flush creep up Peter’s neck and settle on his cheeks. “God, you’re so fucking...” Flash slid his palms up Peter’s thighs and tugged his jeans and boxer briefs down just enough to press his mouth against Peter’s hipbone and suck. Peter’s back pressed flat against the wall as he gasped. No one had touched him there in a long time.

Flash’s hands were everywhere, sliding up under Peter’s flimsy undershirt to trace his abdominal muscles, and back down to nudge his thighs apart and tug his jeans down further until he could pull him out, helplessly hard with all the attention. Flash stroked him once, eliciting a small whimper from Peter, and murmured, “Used to think there was something wrong with me, wanting you this bad.”

He stopped talking after that, mouth busy, and Peter writhed and clung to the wall with his sticky fingers so that he wouldn’t sink down to the floor or give in to the urge to take hold of Flash’s head and _thrust_. He gasped and moaned and eventually had to bite down on the fleshy part of his thumb when he realized how much noise he must be making in this _public place_.

Peter was never going to last long, but looking down and realizing that Flash was only using one hand to hold Peter’s hips in place because he was stroking himself with the other just about did Peter in. “You-- Eu--Flash, fu--, please, I’m--” His hands found their way down to Flash’s shoulders, trying to warn him, but Flash held on firmly and hollowed his cheeks out in a way that had Peter’s vision going white.

By the time Peter floated back down to earth, Flash was standing up and tucking them both away. Peter grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and tugged, catching him by the jaw and slotting their mouths together. Flash came willingly, and their tongues slid against each other as he pressed Peter tight against the wall. It was hot and mindless and Flash’s hands were under his shirt, sliding up his sides, and Peter couldn’t _think_ and didn’t want to. He was dizzy with how good it was. He hooked one of his legs around Flash’s thigh, and Flash had just picked him up so that he could wrap them around his waist instead when--

“Peter! Peter, you back there?”

Peter broke the kiss, startled to remember that they were in the back corridor at a bar, and he had to go play another set in... from the sound of it, about thirty seconds.

“I have to...”

Flash cleared his throat and slowly lowered Peter’s legs back down to the ground, still pressed flush against him.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice rough. Peter shivered and didn’t resist when Flash went in for one more meltingly hot kiss, and when he pulled away, he was holding Peter’s phone in his hand.

“Hit me up if the person you’re always singing about doesn’t pan out,” he said, after he’d saved his number into the phone and handed it back.

Peter swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said, still a little breathless. Flash grinned at him, not cocky like Peter would’ve expected, but kind of sweet.

“See you around, Parker,” he said, and left quickly, leaving Peter standing there staring after him until he realized he had a set to get to.

* * *

**Monday, September 21, 2015: 11:17 am**

Peter hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened with Flash in over a week.

In part, he thought it was because it was the most action he’d gotten since Felicia dumped him, and in part, it was just really _hot._

He’d feel good about this potential new avenue on his ‘getting over Wade’ journey, if only he didn’t keep imagining Wade instead. Wade’s gloved hands on his skin, Wade’s mouth against his, Wade’s stupid _mask_ staring up at him--

It was awful and useless and Peter wanted to stop right away, especially since he was thinking about it in _class_ instead of paying attention to his students, but they were taking a test anyway, and he could remember what Wade’s arms felt like around him, what he was like pressed up against Peter’s back as they’d swing through the city, and, well...

Peter had a very vivid imagination. It wasn’t doing him any favors, and it certainly wasn’t fair to Flash, which wasn’t something he ever thought he’d have to think--

In short, his head was a mess.

It’d been nearly two months since he last heard from Wade. Peter was ready to storm SHIELD and demand information on his whereabouts.

Instead he patrolled longer than he needed to most nights, until he was sure Wade wasn’t coming, and finally broke down one day and sent another text. He knew Wade wouldn’t get it until he returned, but sending it made Peter feel a little better.

He’d waited for years, and very patiently. He was running on empty at this point.

_Let me know when you’re back in town_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews, everyone! You're all beautiful and deserve all the good things in life.  
> I should warn you though, the story has been finished for a while (aside from like one scene at the end), so if you're making requests they're only going to be fulfilled if I already thought of them. :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day I post this particular chapter *would* be the day I have no time to get it done in the morning.

* * *

[ _Well I saw your face, then I heard that song_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)   
[ _It was so inviting it hurt my bones_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)   
[ _But it looks like you, but your eyes are grey_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)   
[ _And your hair is gone, but your mind’s okay_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)   
[ _Yes I love your smile, but your forehead’s cold  
I don’t want you to be afraid and go_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Thursday, October 1, 2015: 9:42 pm**

Peter hadn’t heard his text alert for Wade in so long, he almost didn’t realize what it was. He was slumped at the desk in the corner of his apartment, proofreading an article he was trying to get published, and paused when he heard _‘Lerooooooy Jenkins!_ ’

The pause lasted barely fifteen seconds before he leapt out of his seat and rushed over to the futon to find his phone and swipe it open.

**Spidey! I’m back!!!**

Peter just beamed at the phone, reading and re-reading the short message a couple times before sending a quick reply.

_Meet me at Carlitas._

He didn’t bother to wait for the confirmation before putting on his suit, but when it came, he grinned down at his phone and webbed off to their meeting point, ecstatic to have open lines with Wade again.

***

By the time he made it to Carlitas, Peter had remembered why he’d been so anxious and miserable for weeks now. This conversation stood to have an incredibly bad outcome for him.

He arrived first, and paced around on the roof while he waited for Wade, his nerves building. What if he’d been right before, and this was just a terrible idea all around? What if--

“I’m back, baby boy!” Wade bounced up the fire escape and onto the roof, looking cheerful as though they’d seen each other yesterday. Peter’s heart pounded a short, sharp beat.

“Hi, Wade,” he said, crossing his arms and then immediately uncrossing them. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Wade agreed. “Did you know that in East Africa, monkeys will just walk up to you, bold as shit, and take things right outta your hands? My rubber bullets _hurt_ , Spidey, it never occurred to me--”

“Wade--” Peter said, momentarily distracted from his plan. “Are you telling me a monkey stole your gun and shot you?”

Wade grumbled and rubbed his arm, which had to have long since healed from whatever happened to it. “Monkeys are assholes,” he said, which was as good as admitting it. Peter grinned at him.

“You’re gonna have to tell me that whole story,” he said.

“Sure, sure,” Wade agreed, waving a hand. “But first you gotta get whatever this is off your chest.”

Peter paused and tipped his head to one side. “How did you--?”

“Please,” Wade said dismissively, and it was too succinct to be anything other than a reference. Then he startled and said, “Shit, you started school again, didn’t you? Spidey, I’m sorry. I said I’d help you out and I ditched you.”

Peter had a mixed response to that, because on the one hand, Wade totally _did_ ditch him, and Peter had _needed_ him, but on the other. Well. Wade couldn’t realistically control how long his missions lasted, and right now, Peter was a lot more interested in making sure he didn’t destroy their friendship by botching this confession.

So he shrugged, trying to project nonchalance and probably failing. “It’s okay. As long as you’ll still cover for me, even if--”

Crap. That was not the right way to lead into it. Peter was screwing this up already.

“Even if?” Wade prompted, eyebrows raised behind his mask.

“Yeah,” he said, wanting to fidget again and forcing himself to stand still. “Um. So...”

Wade waited expectantly. Peter stared around, then rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I’m twenty four, now.”

“Oh shit!” Wade exclaimed, and pulled out his phone to check the date. “I missed it! I’m sorry, Webs! Happy birthday!! I think I got a present for ya while I was gone. I’ll check my stuff and figure out what I did with it!”

Peter smiled, though Wade couldn’t see it under the mask. He hesitated for a beat, and when Wade seemed to just be waiting for a confirmation that this was okay, he continued.

“No,” he said, then backtracked. “I mean, sure, that’s fine, but that’s not what I meant. I mean that I’m twenty four, now.” When Wade just looked confused, Peter elaborated. “Subtract seven and you get seventeen. That times two is thirty four.” He stared at Wade, willing him to understand.

Wade squinted at him. “Why’re we doin’ math?”

“Because I’m not too young for you anymore!” The words burst out of Peter before he could stop them, and he closed his eyes, mortified. But he had to push through this, so he opened them again and added, in a smaller voice, “Right?”

“Hold the phone,” Wade said, waving his hands around, and even pausing to look around the rooftop as though someone else might be there with them. “Too young for what?”

“You know what I mean,” Peter said, and had the sudden horrible thought that maybe Wade was just playing dumb because he _didn’t want to have this conversation again_. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine,” he added hastily, dropping his eyes so that he didn’t have to look at Wade’s reaction. “I’ll never bother you about it again. No hard feelings, really. I just-- have to know one way or another.” He chanced a quick glance up, then dropped his eyes again. “I can’t keep wondering.”

Wade stared at Peter blankly for longer than Peter felt strictly comfortable with. He wanted to leave, _now_ , but the staring wasn’t an answer, and he couldn’t leave this rooftop without one. Not after all this time.

Right when Peter was gearing up to ask if he was okay, Wade shook his head sharply, just once, and seemed to focus again.

“Spidey,” Wade said slowly. “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re--”

“Yes,” Peter said, before he lost his nerve. “Wade, I’m saying I-- want you. A lot.” He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously. “So much.”

Wade went back to the staring, the blankness of his mask almost eerie. After an agonizing minute, he hissed to himself, _“_ I _heard_ what he said! Shut up! _”_

Peter’s heart sank. This could not be a good reaction. The boxes were _never_ a good reaction. Wade pressed his hands against his face, and Peter began to worry seriously about having caused him some very real distress. He hadn’t considered this angle, which was thoughtless of him, really. He knew Wade still struggled with the boxes and everything that came with them. It was just so easy to forget, because he so rarely brought them up.

“No, this isn’t right,” Wade said, dropping his hands. Peter, despite his concern, felt something hard and painful jolt through his chest.

“Oh,” he said. He crossed his arms tightly, almost hugging himself. “Yeah, I...” Peter’s voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. “I kind of thought you’d say that.”

Wade looked agitated. “Baby boy... did someone dose you with something? Uh, what color is that dress? Where’d we go the night we saw Rhino get straight rejected and shoot up a club?”

Peter scowled, about ready to burst into tears, if he was being totally honest. Instead, he answered, “What? No, I’m not on drugs, Wade, nothing’s wrong with me, I’m not... possessed or body swapped or something.”

Wade didn’t answer, still waiting, so Peter huffed and added, “We were on a roof across from the place, Pier Point Five, and you instigated the whole thing with Rhino. And I’m not going to explain to you about retinas again right now, okay? Look, I’ll leave it alone like I said, I promise, but I need you to know that what I just said to you was serious.”

Wade put his hands behind his back, and Peter stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Baby boy,” he said, after another interminable pause. “You can’t really want _me--_ ”

It was a shock, how angry that made Peter. “Don’t you dare,” he ordered Wade, pointing a furious finger at him and making him take a surprised step backward. Peter followed, because as much as he didn’t want to push Wade too far, he was _not_ going to let this whole ordeal hinge on Wade’s low self-esteem. Peter praised him all the time: even if Wade didn’t think it was true, he had to believe that _Peter_ believed it. He just wanted a yes or a no, and he wanted it on real terms, with both of them on the same page. Just closure, one way or another. He didn’t think that was too much to ask.

“You’ve been my best friend for _years_ , Wade, you’re always there for me. You’re _amazing_ , and I have been waiting _four years_ to ask you for this because of your _stupid rule_. I’ve respected it, okay? And you’re welcome to say no, if it’s not what you want! I won’t mind, really, I promise--” He took a deep, unsteady breath, realizing he sounded angrier than what he was saying warranted. “But you are _not_ going to try and tell me I’ve been wrong this whole time about what I want. I know _exactly_ what I want.”

While Peter waited for a response to this, he realised he was shaking. This was it, wasn’t it? The ball was in Wade’s court, now. Peter had done what was potentially a very dumb thing, and now he had to wait for the fallout.

“I’m your best friend?” Wade echoed, once the silence had stretched long enough to make it clear that Peter was done. “Not... Johnny Storm or your boyf-- wait, what about Peter Parker?”

An incredulous laugh escaped before Peter could stop himself. “I am _not_ dating Peter Parker, Wade, I--”

“Okay,” Wade interrupted, apparently having decided that zero to sixty was how he was going to handle things now, “Wait, my ‘stupid rule’? You mean the totally _normal and reasonable_ way to figure out who’s appropriate to lust after? You mean one of the most vanilla and socially acceptable morals I have, Spidey? That one?”

“Okay, _fine_ , it’s not stupid,” Peter bit out, even though it was the _stupidest rule ever_ and he _hated_ it, and he didn’t care if that was illogical. “And you’ll notice that I’m not in violation anymore. I can do the math for you again if you want!!”

“It’s not about the math!” Wade exclaimed, and Peter suddenly realized they had both started yelling at some point. “Math isn’t the _point_ , it’s just a _guideline!_ ”

“So what, are you saying you would’ve dated me when I was twenty?” Peter demanded, aghast. What if he’d been wrong this whole time? What if MJ had been right when she said he should’ve told Wade ages ago? Peter didn’t think he could handle that.

“What?” Wade asked, as though Peter had just accused him of something... bad enough to appall a former killer-for-hire. Peter couldn’t imagine what would shock someone with Wade’s experiences. Except apparently this. “No! I wouldn’t-- I mean, I _really_ wanted--” He wrung his hands together and paced around in a circle, radiating distress. “But you were _way_ too young back then, I didn’t realize, Spidey, honest, if I had _known_ , I mean, fuck, you’re just-- and we couldn’t have-- but once I found out, I totally laid off on the dirty old pervert routine, didn’t I?”

Peter managed to catch Wade mid-turn, hands careful on his arms. “You did,” he agreed, forcibly softening his tone. “You were a total gentleman, Wade, don’t worry.” Wade stopped moving, his shoulders still tense, and looked at Peter, who smiled and squeezed his arms. “Even if I didn’t want you to be. You’re a good person.”

Nodding slowly, Wade started to relax. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah?”

Peter nodded back and let go of his arms now that he was calm, with a twinge of regret. “The best.”

They fell into a brief silence, during which it occurred to Peter that he _still_ didn’t have an answer.

“So,” he prompted, staring at Wade, heart in his throat again. “It’s not weird anymore, right? The age thing?”

Wade paused, considering. “Right,” he said.

“So...”

“So?”

Peter huffed. “Is that a yes or a no?” he demanded, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands.

Wade hesitated _again_. Peter was going to kill him.

“I guess I’d be a fool to look a gift spider in the mouth,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “In the pincers? I don’t really know how spiders work.”

A slow smile pulled at the corners of Peter’s mouth. “Is that a yes?”

Wade nodded, and Peter felt almost dizzy with relief. “Yes, you’ll date me?” he repeated, just to be sure.

“I’ll do whatever you want, baby boy,” Wade said, spreading his arms to gesture broadly. “I’m all yours. Say the word.”

Peter crossed the short space between them and put a hand on Wade’s arm, just to make sure he had his full attention. Then he wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face against Wade’s neck, hugging him tightly. Kissing would come later, after he knew exactly who it was under Peter’s mask. Assuming that wasn’t a different kind of deal-breaker. He was still in mild disbelief that he’d finally gotten the answer he wanted.

“Whoa-- hey, Spidey, you okay?” Wade asked, carefully hugging back. It was perfect, and Peter was fine. He was just stressed, okay? No one was crying. Not even a little.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Peter asked, his voice muffled against Wade’s shoulder.

“Your place?” Wade echoed, sounding surprised.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Peter said, not bothering to move just yet. “I mean, we _can_ , but I just wanted to talk in private.”

“You’re okay with me knowin’ where you live?” Wade asked.

“I want you to know everything about me,” Peter mumbled. He hadn’t been sure if Wade would hear him, but the way his arms tightened around Peter suggested that he had.

“I still think you’re crazier than I am,” Wade said to the top of his head. “But who cares. Pretty sure I don’t. Right? Right.”

***

Peter had chosen Carlita’s initially because it was only about ten blocks from his apartment. He webbed home quickly, Wade secure against his back, excitement thrumming through him.

Wade said _yes_. After all the worry and uncertainty and after _so long_ , he said _yes_. Peter wanted to celebrate this like he’d celebrated getting his internship. He wanted to call everyone he knew. He wanted to tell the Avengers, and he barely knew them. He wanted to sell the story to the Bugle.

He settled for landing on his own fire escape and letting Wade go through the window first, into his apartment.

“The Spidey-cave is tiny,” Wade said first thing, and Peter rolled his eyes hard as he flicked on the light. “It’s like--”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, too,” he interrupted, though he was sure Wade could hear the smile in his voice. “I get that enough from MJ and my aunt.”

“MJ?” Wade repeated. “She knows you, too? I knew it!”

“Yeah, um,” Peter said. He took a deep breath and pulled his mask off, watching Wade’s face anxiously. “About that.”

“Ooooohhh snap,” Wade said, covering his mouth with his hands and looking properly astonished. “Holy shitting shitballs, Petey-- you’re--that’s fucking _nuts_ \--”

Peter winced. He’d been hoping for a slightly more positive reaction than this. “This doesn’t change anything, does it?” He took a short step closer to Wade. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you, I should’ve--”

“Hokay, nope, yeah, this proves it, I’m hallucinating,” Wade said, nodding to himself. He reached down to his waist and produced a knife, which he stabbed right into his own side before Peter could stop him.

“Wade! What the hell!” Peter hurried forward and snatched the knife away, tossing it toward the sink. “Why would you do that? Don’t do that!” He could hear the alarm in his voice as he helped Wade sit down on the futon, well aware that he’d be fine in a few minutes and still worried as fuck.

He tugged open the hole in Wade’s suit a little more so he could check on the damage. It was still bleeding.

“You’re not hallucinating, you idiot,” Peter said, glaring up at him.

“I guess I’m not?” Wade agreed, looking surprised by that fact. “Whoops. Sorry about the blood, and uh...”

“And for stabbing yourself. In my living room,” Peter prompted, still scowling.

“Is this the living room?” Wade asked, looking around. “Cause it looks like the whole place is just one tiny room.”

“It’s the living room right now because the futon is in the couch position,” Peter said loftily, looking down his nose at Wade. “It’s the kitchen-slash-dining room during dinner time, and it’s the bedroom when the futon is flat. And there’s a separate bathroom, you know.”

“Versatile,” Wade said. His knife wound had finished bleeding. Peter was seriously considering confiscating his other weapons. “Baby boy, I’m gonna need you to walk me through this one more time.”

Peter darted a nervous glance at him. “It’s the living room right now because the futon--”

“Haha wow that was so funny, we’ve got a real Bo Burnham over here,” Wade said, waving his hands around mockingly. Peter snorted and elbowed him, careful to avoid his knife wound. “That’s not what I was talkin’ about and you know it, Petey-pie.”

Peter nodded. He settled more comfortably on the futon next to Wade, looking at his hands. “Ask a question and I’ll answer it,” he said.

“Hmm, okay, where to start, where to start...” Wade tapped his chin. “What the fuck?”

Peter quirked a half smile. “I’m gonna need a more specific question than that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Wade agreed. “You were jokin’ before, about four years or whatever, right? You had to be joking. Yeah, you were, that’s not my question--”

“I wasn’t joking,” Peter said, twisting his hands together. “You used to flirt with me all the time back then. I was really into it, and you look _really_ good in a dress--”

“Oh em gee,” Wade mumbled under his breath. Peter ignored him and kept going.

“--and I was all prepared to ask you out and then you started talking about how dating a twenty year old would be gross and I didn’t want to believe you at first but you seemed just really _sure_ about it, so--”

“I was--!” Wade exclaimed, obviously quite ready to defend his position again. Peter took his hand and squeezed, sighing.

“I know. I know, Wade,” he agreed. “That’d be why I didn’t say anything.”

“Twenty’s still practically a friggin teenager,” Wade said, a little more calm. “And I couldn’t date someone who’s only ten years older than Ellie, it’d seriously fuck with my head.”

“Ellie,” Peter repeated. “How old is she, again?”

“She’s ten,” Wade said proudly. Peter decided not to point out that he was never going to have only been ten years older than her. The point was moot. “And she’s a total badass. Could probably beat up _your_ nerdy ass, Doctor Spider-Man.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter said, grinning. “I’m also kind of a badass.”

“Okay, new question,” Wade said suddenly. “Coz you said you were working on your school stuff still, but you’re obviously in a band. I’ve seen it a bunch of times. Which is it?”

“It’s both,” Peter said, feeling tired just thinking about his schedule. “Basically, it’s classes in the morning, work in the afternoon, band some evenings, patrol most nights.”

Wade eyed him. “You sure you got time for--”

“I’ll make time,” Peter said firmly, jaw tight as he stared Wade down.

“You’re really serious about this,” Wade offered, after a moment’s pause. Peter nodded.

“As long as that doesn’t bother you,” he said. Wade laughed.

“Spider-Man’s serious about wanting to date me and you’re askin’ if that _bothers_ me?” Wade leaned back in his seat and lifted his hands in the air. “I have never been less bothered in my _life_ , Peter Parker.”

Peter beamed at him. “Then, in that case,” he said, shifting and telegraphing his intention to touch Wade’s mask. He tensed, and Peter paused. “You don’t have to take it off,” he said. “I knew your name for a long time before you knew mine, so I don’t mind waiting a while to see your face.” He let his hand drop, and added, “But I’ve seen the bottom half of your face a hundred times, and that’s really the part I’m interested in at the moment.”

“No, I can do this,” Wade said, fidgeting. “If I can tell you about Ellie I can take off my mask, right? I’m pretty sure that adds up.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, making sure his smile was encouraging. “Sounds right to me.”

“No hard feelings if you change your mind,” Wade added, tapping his knees with his fingers. “Totes not a big deal, I get it, coz it’s pretty goddamn gross, baby boy, and as long as you don’t puke on me--”

“Wade,” Peter said, taking his hand again and holding it firmly. “Shut up for a second. It’ll be fine.”

Wade nodded, hesitated, and then reached up and pulled his mask off in one swift movement. Peter looked up at his entire face for the first time.

It wasn’t pretty. The slowly shifting patterns of healing and scarring made for an almost alarming picture at first. But it was nothing he hadn’t expected, having spent plenty of time over the past few years trying to extrapolate what the rest of Wade might look like just based on his chin and his mouth. Most importantly, seeing the way Wade looked at him when the mask wasn’t in the way wiped away any doubts Peter might’ve still had about whether he was alone in how he felt. With that look in his eyes, Wade could be green and slimy under his mask and Peter would still want him.

“Can I touch you?” Peter asked, pulling one leg up under him so he could face Wade more fully. “I mean, will it hurt?”

“Not any more than usual,” Wade said. “Not unless you start pinching me or some shit like that. Maybe you should, I’m still not totally buyin’ this version of reality.”

He looked tense and nervous, and Peter needed that to stop. He leaned in and slid one hand around the back of Wade’s neck, pulling him in and [kissing him slowly](http://mere-mortifer.tumblr.com/post/164222255486/title-half-your-age-plus-seven-author).

All of Peter’s past experience told him that this would give way to lust and morph into something much more graphic, very quickly. Wade seemed unaware of Peter’s expectations, however, and instead slid an arm around his waist and cupped his jaw, adjusting the angle.

Peter found himself straddling Wade’s lap without quite knowing how he got there, but neither of them tried to rush things along, content to keep their kisses long and languid. After a little while, Peter broke away and gasped, tracing his lips along a scar that followed Wade’s jaw. “Where are your hands?” he asked, panting. “Give me--”

“You got something in mind, baby boy?” Wade asked in a rough voice, sliding his hands up from where they’d been resting on Peter’s thighs.

Peter kissed Wade again, for good measure, then took one of his wrists and tugged the glove off his hand. He did the same with the other, then took his own off as well and tossed them aside.

“Oh,” Wade said unnecessarily. “I thought you were gonna--”

“I want you to touch me wherever you want,” Peter said, mouthing now at Wade’s neck. “Unless you need step-by-step instructions?”

“Hmm,” Wade said, sliding his hands up and around to squeeze Peter’s ass. “I’d appreciate your input.”

Peter took a second to place the cadence Wade had put to those words while they kissed again, then pulled back and said, “Love.”

“The kind they clean up with a mop and bucket,” Wade agreed, and Peter bent his head to hide his face against Wade’s collarbone and giggled helplessly while he continued singing. Serenading Peter, really. “--hieroglyphics, let me be Pacific, I wanna be down in your South Seas.” He slid his hands up to Peter’s hips and swayed them back and forth to the beat, which only made Peter hold on tighter and laugh harder. “But I got this notion that the motion of your ocean means small craft advisory.”

Peter had never tried to kiss someone into silence while laughing before, and it wasn’t working now.

“Mm- you and me baby--mm--ain’t nothin’ but mammals--”

Deciding a different approach was in order, Peter took hold of the back of the futon and rocked it until they were both lifted up and toppled back onto what was now officially Peter’s bed.

Wade looked surprised to be laying flat on his back, with Peter still straddling him. “Welcome to my bedroom,” Peter said, leaning down to slot their mouths together again before they committed to a second verse. Kissing while smiling wasn’t nearly as difficult, he discovered, which was good because he had a feeling he’d be doing it a lot from now on.

“That was... pretty sexy,” Wade said between kisses. “Like... smooth as fuck, Pete... A+... would be seduced again.”

Peter trailed his mouth down Wade’s chest, pausing to pull a knife out of a hidden pocket in the suit and toss it aside when it got in the way. “Yeah?” His fingers searched for the clasp on the utility belt for long, burdensome seconds before he was able to undo it and lift Wade’s hips up enough to shove it off the bed. “I’m glad it didn’t do the thing where it collapses in on itself instead. Might’ve killed the mood.”

“I dunno, I think you’d probably still get at least a 5/7,” Wade said. His voice was a little strained, and Peter glanced up from under his fringe.

“Let me know if I’m moving too fast-”

“No complaints on my end,” Wade cut in hurriedly. “Forecast is bright and sunny. Fuckin’ field of daisies over here. Peachy keen.”

Peter frowned, then paused with his hand on Wade’s thigh to tug another hidden knife out and drop it on the ground. “Safeword?” he offered, tentatively.

Wade leaned up on one elbow and grinned, bright and arresting. “Red-Yellow-Green, baby boy, and you’ve got green lights for the next ten miles.”

Peter smiled back, relieved, and bent forward to meet him in another kiss. His hand drifted up Wade’s side, and he pulled away with a gun in hand, produced inexplicably from somewhere around Wade’s midsection. He stared at it and exclaimed, “Seriously, how do you even _fit_ all these on your person? No wonder you’re so heavy!”

“It’s the boy scout in me,” Wade said. He took the gun away, checked the safety, and set it on the floor. Then he shrugged off his shoulder holsters and dropped them as well. “You know, _Constant Vigilance!_ ”

“Sure thing, Mad-Eye,” Peter said, leaning forward to slide his hands under Wade’s thighs and over his backside. “Aha!” he declared, producing another gun and holding it up. “I knew it. Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!”

“Gimme that, you little nerd,” Wade demanded, plucking the gun out of Peter’s hand and setting it on the ground, too. Peter slid his hands up Wade’s chest to his shoulders and applied a gentle pressure until he gave in and laid back again.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m going to have to do a strip search, for my own safety,” he explained, tugging the neck of Wade’s suit down enough to kiss his collarbone.

Wade swallowed hard, tipping his head back to expose his neck further and letting his hand trail up into Peter’s hair.

“Usually in this one you’ve got handcuffs,” he said faintly. Peter paused and looked up.

“This one?” he repeated. His hands were tracing patterns on Wade’s torso, searching in a roundabout way for some kind of opening or fastening that would allow him to take the suit off. He just kept finding more knives, and a flash grenade down near Wade’s hip. Peter was half convinced at this point that he going to get all this bulky gear off and find a skinny little dude underneath.

“Yeah, y’know,” Wade said, “That argument we always used to have before I got rubber bullets. 'How many knives should Deadpool bring on patrol? How many guns?’ But insteada just crossin’ your arms at me, you’d handcuff me an’ find out for yourself what I was packing.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Peter, who blushed. Wade had thought about him like that? Even though--

He decided to let it slide and instead commented, “Why handcuffs? What about my webslingers?”

“Whole different fantasy, Petey,” Wade said. “An’ I think you'll see why if you move that hand about three inches down and to the left.”

Peter did as suggested, and sure enough, there was a set of handcuffs tucked against Wade's inner thigh.

“Oh,” he breathed, a jolt of arousal bringing a darker flush to his face. He glanced up at Wade, who was watching him avidly, and said, “Next time.”

“Promises--” Wade began, but Peter cut him off with a bruising kiss. The confirmation that Wade was fully and even previously _that_ interested had flipped a switch, and Peter wanted him naked _now_.

His hands slid up and down Wade's body, searching and grasping for an opening. The noises Wade was making assured him that he still had a green light, and when he finally found what felt like a fastening, he fit both hands into it and yanked it open, ignoring the ripping sound in favor of the way Wade whimpered against his mouth.

He probably should've been a little more careful in the way he manhandled them both up into a sitting position and stripped the suit off of Wade's shoulders, but leaving his wrists trapped in his sleeves when he shoved him back down was maybe more deliberate than not. He settled back on Wade's hips to strip the top of his own suit off, then paused to admire the view.

Wade struggled briefly to free his arms, which pushed his scarred chest out and set the muscles of his arms and shoulders in sharp relief. Peter tasted both his stomach and chest before covering Wade's body with his own and biting at the hinge of his jaw.

“Fuck, baby boy,” Wade panted, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “How’m I s’posed to--” He gasped and moaned when Peter’s fingers drifted down to find the opening on his pants, his mouth still busy at Wade's neck. “Fuck, fuck, yes, oh please--”

Peter, having failed to find a button or a zip or _anything_ , climbed off of Wade in order to take hold of his pants and tug them down. They got caught up on Wade’s boots, so Peter left them there around his ankles and settled Wade’s bare legs on his shoulders. The position, coupled with Wade’s arms still pinned to his sides, gave Peter all the leverage.

He hesitated. “Is this still oka--”

“ _Green!_ ” Wade gasped, eyes closed, head tipped back, hips rocking uselessly into the air. “Green! So green, Spidey, just-- please touch me before I come--”

Peter’s eyes widened, then darkened. He used one hand to pin Wade’s hips to the bed, watching him moan when he realized he couldn’t move. “You like being like this, don’t you?” he asked, sliding his free palm up Wade’s thigh. He squirmed, and Peter licked his lips. “You’re completely at my mercy.”

Wade whimpered, and Peter had to pause to take a deep breath and adjust himself. Then he bent Wade’s knee, spreading his legs and lifting his lower half off the bed. Wade opened his eyes and looked so helplessly aroused that Peter almost lost control right there.

Instead, he pulled himself together with an extreme act of willpower and said, “Do you know how many times I've laid right here in this bed and made myself come thinking about you?” Wade's eyes widened. “And now I have you,” Peter continued. “You’re mine. Right?”

“Yes please, all yours, _yes_ ,” Wade agreed frantically. “Baby boy, I’ll do _anything_ \--”

Peter didn’t make him wait any longer.

* * *

  **Friday, October 2, 2015: 7:16 am**

Peter drifted out of sleep early the next morning, warmer than usual and with a crick in his neck. He yawned and stretched and startled at the sound of another voice, right next to his ear.

“How do you like your pancakes?”

Peter, who hadn't opened his eyes yet, smiled faintly and mumbled back, “Fertilized.”

Wade laughed and pulled him back against his chest. That was even warmer. Peter hummed and settled in to sleep longer.

“I'm gonna assume you're too sleepy to think about how gross that is,” Wade said. Peter made a noise of assent. “Don't worry, I'll remind you later. I'm gonna--”

It was clear that Wade was trying to pull away for something. Pancakes probably. Peter wasn't interested, and didn't let go of where his sticky fingers held Wade's arms in place.

“Uh...” Wade said. “I'm gonna go make pancakes. It's gonna be crazy romantic and you're gonna be all happy and well fed before class or work or whatever you're doin’ today.”

Peter grumbled and shifted onto his other side facing Wade, so that he could wrap an arm around his waist and hold him still.

“Petey, I also kinda have to piss.”

“Liar,” Peter muttered against Wade's sternum. He could feel the vibration of Wade's chuckle against his cheek. It was nice.

Wade was silent for a few seconds. “Not really a morning person, are ya?” he asked, and he sounded fond. “Who'm I to try and cut cuddling short? You win, baby boy.”

“Eight fifty,” Peter replied, his words muffled against Wade’s chest. “Wake up.”

“Sure thing.”

***

**_How’s class?_ **

_Oh, it’s great._

_We’re doing a lab, and each of my students are finding unique and interesting ways to completely screw up the assignment. If I grade on a curve I’m going to have to give points for creativity._

**_I bet they’re all too distracted by dat ass_ **

_We’ll see how distracted they all are when they all realize they failed._

**_Harsh._ **

_***_

_Do you want to date Spider-Man or Peter?_

**_...both?_ **

_Well, you can’t. Gotta pick one._

**_Aw, but why?_ **

_”Hey, what’s Deadpool doing all up in Spider-Man’s business? Isn’t he dating Peter Park---OOOHHHH.”_

_Secret identity ruined._

**_But I WANT to be all up in Spider-Man’s business._ **

**_Are we dating?_ **

_Yes._

_Right?_

_That was the plan._

**_Then it’s you and me, Petey._ **

**_I’m gonna tell everyone at your shows that all the love songs are about me._ **

**_What are you gonna do about it? ;)_ **

Peter glanced at his phone again and still didn’t have an answer to that that wasn’t going to make him blush like a teenager in front of all his students. He didn’t need to be such a _blatantly_ bad example with the texting in class, either.

His phone lit up again after about five minutes.

**_Petey?_ **

**_I was just joking_ **

Peter was determined to wait until after class to answer, which meant another fifteen minutes went by before he looked at his phone again. Wade had apparently been busy on YouTube.

**_Oohhhh my god baby boy_ **

**_This song!!_ **

**_I always wondered who you were talking about with that[x-rated line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7426RDqdLg)_ **

**_Petey omg <33333_ **

**_Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh_ **

**_omgomgomgomg_ **

**_You’re perf_ **

Waiting until after class had been a very good idea. Peter was flushed pink as he replied.

_I’ll make sure we play some of the others tonight too._

**_Others?!!?_ **

_I got a lot of mileage out of you, what can I say. ;)_

In reply, Wade just sent about eight texts worth of hearts and sparkles. Peter grinned at his phone until he reached his research advisor’s office.

* * *

**Saturday, October 3, 2015: 10:02 am**

Peter was in his boxers on his stomach, his side pressed flush up against Wade’s on his futon as they played Minecraft together.

He was _trying_ to explain how to install the Minecraft equivalent of electricity in the giant house they’d built, but Wade’s supposed step by step adherence to Peter’s instructions had instead created a trap that, when Peter tripped it, caused cows to fall from the sky and land on his character’s head.

Wade was still laughing over the sounds of distressed mooing when they both heard the click of the lock on his front door. Peter barely had time to push himself into a sitting position before the door opened and Johnny came in with a bag of what looked like snacks.

He stopped dead when he realized they were there, and stared. Peter noted that Wade’s mask was firmly covering his face again, and said, “Uh... hey Johnny.”

“Figured you’d be up and about by now,” Johnny said. Then, “Hey Deadpool. Peter finally let the cat out of the bag?”

“Looks like,” Wade said, and Peter was surprised to hear defensiveness in his tone.

“Congrats, guys,” Johnny said. He fished through his bag, pulled out a box of Froot Loops, and tossed it to Peter. “Mazel tov. I’ll see you later, Pete.”

Peter grinned, already opening the box. “Thanks, Johnny. See you later.”

The door closed behind Johnny, gone as quick as he arrived, and Wade watched Peter munch contentedly on a handful of froot loops, mask still in place.

“You can take that off again,” Peter said, gesturing to his own face.

“He got his own key or something?” Wade asked, reaching up slowly to tug the mask off. Peter swallowed his food and rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.

“You know, I never asked,” he replied, shrugging. His text alert for Johnny came through about five times in a row, and Peter grinned as he stretched to reach it where it sat on the windowsill and swiped it open. “That’s what I thought.” He knew Johnny wasn’t _that_ chill about walking in on them.

**_Pete WTF?!!_ _  
_ **

**_u coulda said he’s back in town!!!_ **

**_and NAKED in ur apt!!_ **

**_this is srsly impt info asshole_ **

**_looks like it all worked out?!??_ **

“Is that him?

Peter nodded and leaned into Wade’s side so he could read, too. The texts were still coming.

**_did u grow a pair finally?_ **

**_about fuckin time_ **

**_hope u 2 r v happy 2gthr_ **

**_put a sock on ur door or smthn tho_ **

 

_I’m not gonna put a sock on my door so my neighbors can see, jerk._

_Just learn to knock._

_Thanks. :)_

“Tell him we can text him every time we’re about to have sex, if he’d rather,” Wade said, kissing the spot behind Peter’s ear. Peter shook his head, even as he tilted it slightly.

“Definitely not,” Peter disagreed. He shifted and hummed as Wade’s mouth trailed lower, over his shoulder and toward his clavicle.

“Could use a code word,” he continued, between kisses. “Something short and to the point.”

“I don’t think so,” Peter repeated, allowing himself to be pushed back onto the pillows.

“I was thinkin’... Bone City.”

Peter laughed, then opened his eyes with sudden clarity and snatched his phone out of Wade’s hands. “We are _not_ telling _anyone_ when we’re about to have sex,” he said, stuffing the phone under one of the pillows and ignoring Wade’s grousing. “We’re just gonna have sex. No announcements. That’s just weird.”

“Fine...” Wade said, pouting. Peter looked at him, rolled his eyes, and retrieved the phone immediately.

“I haven’t told MJ yet,” he said, handing it to Wade. “You can, if you want.”

Wade looked a little too delighted. “For realsies?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, laying back against the pillows. “Just put it on speaker when you call. And don’t do it yet.” He gave Wade a pointed look. “We were about to be in the middle of something.”

Wade tossed the phone aside without a second glance and went willingly into a very thorough kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The song about Wade referenced in this chapter is ‘[Want You Bad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7426RDqdLg)’ by the Offspring.
> 
> Wade, on the other hand, is singing ‘The Bad Touch’ by the Bloodhound Gang, because he’s a fucking dork.
> 
> ALSO: The art for this fic can be found [here](http://mere-mortifer.tumblr.com/post/164222255486/title-half-your-age-plus-seven-author)! Thank you to [mere-mortifier](http://mere-mortifer.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! It's wonderful.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

[_I would cheat and lie and steal  
_ _Now I’ll stay at home and kneel for you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

**Saturday, October 24, 2015: 1:10 am**

It was the end of the last set of the night, and Peter was very much looking forward to patrolling briefly before claiming exhaustion somewhere in Midtown so that Wade would suggest staying at his place.

Wade’s apartment was surprisingly nice. Peter had his suspicions about how squeaky clean and lemon fresh it had smelled the first time he stepped over the threshold, but it had never gotten too gross after that. More to the point, it had at least four separate, individually defined rooms, and Wade’s bed was soft and warm and smelled amazing. Peter tried to only stay over on days when he could sleep in a little and bask in the comfort, but he was weak. If Wade offered, he almost always accepted.

He thought about the potential for a quiet Saturday morning while he helped break down the equipment. Wade might even make breakfast. Peter had a feeling he would.

He was carefully balancing two amps on his way to the van when the devil himself appeared.

“Here ya go, Petey,” Wade said, taking half Peter’s load and setting a water on top of the rest. “You were perfect, as always, if you were wonderin’. The crowd loves you.”

Peter grinned and stepped out into the alleyway, where Steph was loading her drums. “Thanks, big guy. Although I think your review is probably a little biased.”

He set his amp down and paused to open his water. Wade’s hands wandered to his waist and Peter leaned into him as he took a sip and checked the time on his phone.

“I’m not biased, I’m honest,” Wade disagreed, sliding a hand down Peter’s side. Peter gave him a quelling glance. Wade knew better than to grab his ass in public, didn’t he?

It turned out that he did not. Peter slapped his hand away and tried not to laugh, because it would only encourage him.

“Go grab my guitar for me, you animal,” he ordered. Wade’s fingers lingered at his side for a moment before he stuck out his tongue behind his mask and obeyed.

Peter watched him leave with a dopey smile on his face. He turned around and was surprised to find Steph standing there watching him, arms crossed. She was frowning.

“So,” she said. Peter offered her a sheepish smile, which she didn’t return. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, starting to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. “Do you... have some kind of problem with Wade and I dating?”

He hadn’t thought he’d get this from _her_ of all people. Or any of the band, really. She looked almost _disappointed_ in him. Which, what?

“Peter,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you’ve been going through a lot recently, but this isn’t fair to him.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked slowly. He was missing something, he could tell. Sergio stepped into the alleyway, carrying several stands. Peter’s guitar was in its case, slung over his shoulder.

“Serg, you were right, they’re dating,” Steph said instead. Peter felt a little betrayed at Sergio’s grim expression.

“What’s wrong with us dating?” Peter demanded. “I _like_ Wade, he’s a good person, you guys--”

“Yeah, we know that, Pete,” Sergio said, setting down his armful. “That’s _our_ point. You gotta think about him.”

“He really likes you,” Steph agreed. No one was loading the van, now. “It isn’t fair.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Peter looked between the two of them, scowling. “And I like him, too. What’s not fair about that?”

“How long’s it been since you got dumped?” Steph asked. She looked regretful, but determined. “Seriously, Peter, you can tell us. Was it Spider-Man?”

Peter was startled into taking a step back. “What?”

“C’mon,” Sergio said. “We get it. You’ve been into the guy for years. Wrote all those songs about him. We get it. Then all of a sudden, you’re moping around like someone killed your puppy for _months_ , then you’re with Wade the second he’s back in town? It doesn’t take a genius, man.”

“You’re rebounding,” Steph told him, gently. Jimmy took that moment to shove the door open and drag his keyboard and guitar into the alley.

He took one look at everyone’s faces and said, “Oh shit, am I missing it?”

“Did you guys _plan_ this?” Peter demanded. “You think I was-- with Spider-Man? No! Definitely just... no. He and I _\--_ ”

“So he just strung you along and dropped you,” Sergio decided. “Always knew that guy didn’t treat you right, Petey. He’s not worth it.”

“Total douchebag,” Steph chimed in.

“If he comes to a show again, you just let us know,” Jimmy agreed, stowing his keyboard in the van. “I’ll break his nose for you. I don’t care if he’s some kind of mega hero, I’ll do it.”

“Guys, I’m _dating Wade_ ,” Peter said, because obviously they were all confused. “I like Wade. A lot.”

“Do you?” Sergio asked, looking skeptical. “Cause we know he likes you. And I don’t wanna sound like an asshole, Pete, but you’ve been caught up on Spider-Man a long time. And you do like the whole spandex thing.”

“Oh my god,” Peter said in a small voice.

“We’re just saying,” Steph said, looking terribly sympathetic. “You’re going through a rough time, and we don’t want you to accidentally hurt Wade because of it. He’s a good guy. He’s got a big heart.”

“Yeah, he helped my sister out with that creep that kept following her home,” Jimmy said. “Didn’t even ask for anything. You gotta treat him right.”

“I didn’t know that was him,” Peter said faintly. How the _hell_ was he supposed to explain that he wasn’t settling for Wade? Wade was so obviously goals that Peter was having difficulty wrapping his head around what his band mates must’ve been thinking this whole time. “I... I promise I’m not taking advantage of him. My relationship with Wade has nothing to do with Spider-Man, and--”

“Oooh, are we talking about how we got together, baby boy?” Wade emerged from the bar carefully juggling what amounted to the rest of their gear. Steph rushed over and took the snare drum that he’d balanced precariously on top, right as it began to fall. “Coz I tell this story the best.”

Sergio and Peter helped Wade set down the rest of the equipment, and Jimmy, who looked faintly embarrassed at least, started loading the van again.

“It all started three months ago, when someone cloned Spider-Man!”

“Um,” Peter said. His band mates all looked at him, and he went a little red. Wade was not to be deterred.

“Obviously, those of us who know Spidey best were getting a lot of static about which Webhead was the realest, but I knew. Only the real Spidey could down six picante-style chimichangas in under ten minutes without bursting into actual flames.”

“Wade,” Peter said, frowning. “I think--”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Petey, I’m getting to the good part,” Wade said, waving a hand. “So _anyway_ , when I revealed one of the clones, he kidnapped me! Dude was jealous of my chimi-powers and wanted to keep me as his sexy kitchen slave.”

“This has a lot to do with Spider-Man,” Jimmy said under his breath. Peter was bright red with repressing his incredulous laughter, so he just shook his head.

“But Petey, who was dealing with _another_ one of the clones, noticed I was missing! Since he’s only a normie and has no superpowers to speak of, he had to convince everyone that their Spidey was a lie, and that I needed saving. And then he tracked us down to clone-Spidey’s evil lair and vanquished him with every clone’s secret weakness: prismarine.”

“Um,” Peter said again, because prismarine wasn’t a real thing. Wade obviously did not care.

“So then, after months of being trapped in a sexy maid outfit--” Here Wade winked, and Peter went scarlet. “--Peter here saved me and declared his undying love and now we’re going steady like it’s 1954.”

“So... wait,” Sergio said, after a minute of silence where everyone (including Peter) digested this story. “What happened to the real Spider-Man?”

“This story had nothin’ to do with Spider-Man,” Wade said, parroting back Peter’s earlier words. “This was the story of our love. Right, baby boy?”

“Y-yeah,” Peter said, trying hard not to make it sound like a question. “That’s right.” He glanced sideways at Sergio and the others, who didn’t seem to know what to believe. “That’s why I was so upset that whole time. I was waiting for Wade to come home and it was taking a lot longer than I thought it should.”

He was able to say that last bit with such certainty (it being the only true part aside from the fact that Peter could eat six picante chimichangas in one sitting), that even Steph looked convinced.

“Wow,” she said, glancing at Sergio and Jimmy. “Peter, you gotta start telling us more about the shit you do during the week.”

“It’s not usually that exciting,” Peter said. “I try to let the superheroes do most of the work.”

“Uh huh.”

There was a brief pause, during which Jimmy finished loading the van, dusted off his hands, and said, “Congrats, guys. I’m glad you’re happy together.”

Sergio and Steph chimed in with their congratulations too, and Wade gave Peter a big, loud kiss on the side of his head (through his mask) before giving them all a big thumbs up.

“Thanks,” he called, dragging Peter away. “Love you, babes!”

Peter grinned and waved at his band mates as they turned the corner of the alley, then fell into step next to Wade.

“Clones, huh,” he said, giving Wade a stern glance.

“Clones,” Wade agreed blithely. He paused before they reached the mouth of the alley and lifted his mask so that Peter could steal a quick kiss. “Wanna go back to my place tonight and turn me into your sexy kitchen slave?”

“Oh,” Peter said, thinking suddenly of all the possibilities. He pulled Wade back in for another kiss before he lowered his mask again, and added, “Obviously.”

* * *

**Sunday, November 8, 2015: 4:35 pm**

“Be honest with me, Miss May, is this the part where you pull out the baby photos? Because I am _down_ for that _._ ”

Peter grinned at the plates in his hands as he listened to Aunt May and Wade talking as they walked toward the living room. Things were going great, just like he knew they would.

“No, no, we’re doing this in the right order, dear. First you get to tell me how the two of you finally ended up getting together.”

Setting the dishes in the sink, Peter debated whether he should be insulted that Aunt May decided to get the scoop while he was in the other room. “I was gonna tell you!” he called, going back to clear the rest of the table.

“No worries, baby boy, I got this,” Wade called back. “Okay, imagine, if you will: zombie ninjas.”

Aunt May gasped. “What?” Peter said loudly.

“Petey’s mindin’ his own business when this _horde_ of ‘em surrounds him, and what’s he gonna do about it? Zombies are zombies, ‘cept that they’re fast and sneaky like ninjas, and the combination is _lethal._ So I swoop in on my hoverboard--”

“Your what?” Peter asked, coming to stand in the doorway of the living room, arms laden with condiments and empty serving bowls. “Wade, you don’t have a hoverboard, and Aunt May knows I’m Spider-Man. You can just tell her the truth.”

“Awww,” Wade said, his hands dropping into his lap with an air of disappointment. “But I had it all worked out. We saved the president in this one.”

Peter gave him a stern look. “The president of what?”

Wade made a face, and grumbled. “Of the Flat Earth Society.”

“You can tell this one to MJ,” he said. “She’ll like it.”

“She already heard the one about our meet-cute in the laundry room.”

“And she knew it was a lie, because you don’t live in my apartment building, _and_ she already knew you,” Peter pointed out. “She asked me about it later. She needs a new story.”

“Peter,” Aunt May interrupted, looking torn between amusement and confusion. “MJ definitely knows about--”

“Yes,” Peter said, raising his eyebrows at Wade. “She does. That’s a very good point, Aunt May.”

Wade didn’t look even remotely guilty. “I can’t help it, it’s in my blood. I kissed the Blarney Stone as a wee lad.”

“You’re from Canada,” Peter said. He stepped up behind the couch and dropped a kiss onto the crown of Wade’s uncovered head. “Tell her the real story.”

“Yeah, okay,” Wade agreed. Aunt May smiled at them both.

* * *

**Thursday, November 26, 2015: 1:14 pm**

“Are you sure I shouldn’t bring anything?” Peter asked, tugging anxiously at his collar. Wade batted his hands aside and straightened it, then smoothed his hands down Peter’s shoulders, blatantly copping a feel.

“We are bringing things,” Wade pointed out, picking up the container filled with three pre-made pies Aunt May had sent home with Peter yesterday. “C’mon, baby boy, we’re gonna be late.”

“I mean, like, something for her. From me. Not pie.” Peter followed Wade, pausing at the door to his apartment to look around one more time, just in case a gift appropriate for a ten year old might turn out to be sitting on his coffee table. “Like a ‘nice to meet you, please like me’ gift.”

Wade took Peter’s hand and tugged him to the stairwell. “Nobody likes a suck up,” he said. “And anyway, she’s gonna love you.”

“Or,” said Peter, following him unwillingly. “Or she’ll hate me because I’m dating her dad. Kids do that, I’ve seen it in movies and stuff. What if she thinks I’m... competing with her for your attention?”

“Ellie’s not gonna think that,” Wade disagreed. “And she thinks Spider-Man’s badass. And she’s gonna think you’re badass, cause she’s my kid and she has excellent taste.”

“But she doesn’t know that I’m Spider-Man, Wade. What if she doesn’t like _me_?”

“She’s gonna like you as much as Miss May likes me,” Wade said, turning as they reached the bottom of the steps and tugging his mask up quickly. Peter, used to the gesture by now, automatically leaned in for his kiss. It only reassured him a little. “And then I’m gonna get to be as smug about it as you were. Or smugger. The smuggiest.”

“I wasn’t smug,” Peter said. He followed Wade out onto the street and into the waiting cab. It was true that Aunt May and Wade had immediately gotten along like a house on fire, but of course they had.  Wade was totally charming when he bothered to control his filter.  “And she’d been hearing about you for years before you actually met her, she was predisposed to like you.”

“You think Ellie doesn’t get all the highlights from me?” Wade asked, once they were in the cab and he’d given the driver directions.

“Yeah, but...” What if Ellie met Peter and was disappointed? Spider-Man was admittedly very cool, Peter knew this. Peter also knew that he was, as Wade occasionally pointed out, a total nerd. In Peter’s experience, kids were not fans of nerds. And Spider-Man wasn’t going to do him any favors when she _didn’t know_.

“Trust me, Petey,” Wade said, sliding an arm around Peter’s shoulders and tugging him closer. Peter went willingly, turning to rest his forehead against the hinge of Wade’s masked jaw. “She’s gonna love you.”

“I hope so,” Peter said, hooking one of his fingers in Wade’s belt loop. Ellie’s opinion of him was very likely going to make or break the long term potential for this relationship. Peter hadn’t even brought up that concern, because it was so obviously true that he didn’t want to hear it said out loud. Aunt May’s opinion was and always had been a known factor, but no matter what Wade said, Peter couldn’t get it out of his head that this ten year old girl was going to take one look at him and decide he wasn’t good enough.

He’d been trying for the past week (since Wade first brought up spending Thanksgiving with Ellie and her abuela) to remember what girls had been like when he was ten. He would’ve been in fifth grade and... well. All he remembered was giggling. Just a lot of giggling and girls running past him at recess shouting about magical unicorns. He hadn’t met MJ at that point, and was just as much of a shy nerd at ten as he’d been in high school, so... he really had no idea.

He should’ve gotten her a gift. A stuffed unicorn or something. Even if she didn’t like it, Wade probably would. Dammit.

***

Peter held the pies in one hand and Wade’s hand tightly in the other as Wade rang the doorbell. He knew Wade had been just as nervous at this point in meeting Aunt May as he was right now, so he tried to reign it in a little. Maybe make sure he wasn’t breaking any fingers.

The door was flung open, and Wade dropped Peter’s hand instantly to catch the little girl who’d just thrown herself at him.

“Hey, Ellie-belly!” Wade swung her around in a circle on the stoop, then carried her inside while she laughed.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she shouted, her voice muffled from Wade’s shoulder. Peter hesitated, then followed them both inside.

“Happy Turkey Day, kid,” Wade said, and finally set her back on the ground. As a result, she immediately noticed Peter.

“Is this the guy?” she asked, giving Peter a critical once over.

“Yep! This is him,” Wade said, making jazz hands in Peter’s general direction.

Peter smiled as naturally as he could and said, “I... brought pie. Happy Thanksgiving. It’s nice to finally meet you, Ellie.”

Ellie’s grandmother came into the front hall at that point, and Ellie glanced at her before saying, “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Peter.”

Peter’s smile became a little less forced. “You can just call me Peter.”

“Can I call you Pete?” she asked.

“Uh, sure,” Peter said, glancing at Wade. He had stepped away and was talking in rapid Spanish with Ellie’s abuela, apparently ignoring their conversation entirely. Peter knew better, but there was nothing he could do if Wade decided he was going to let Peter do this alone. The traitor.

“How about... Petey? Or Peter Pumpkin Eater?”

“Yeah, I guess any of those is fine,” Peter said, nonplussed.

Ellie blinked innocently up at him. “What about Charlotte?”

“What?” Peter asked, frowning. “I don’t know about--”

“Or Shelob! Ooh, or Aragog?”

Peter paled, then glanced again at Wade and Ellie’s abuela.

“Did he tell you?” he asked, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice. “He said he didn’t tell you.”

Ellie was _beaming_ at him now, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and twisting her hands together with excitement. Peter belatedly realized that he might’ve just done something stupid.

“Eeeeeeeeeee!!!” she said. Yes, he’d done something stupid. She leaned in too, and whispered, “I _knew_ it!! I _knew_ when daddy started talkin’ about you and stopped talking about--” --she glanced at Wade and her abuela-- “The _other guy_ , that you were him!!”

Peter closed his eyes for a second. Crap. “Okay, you’re right,” he said, and she just looked so _excited_ that he couldn’t feel _too_ terrible about her finding out. Except... “ So, uh. I don’t... I mean, you should never keep secrets, normally, and I’d never ask you to usually, and any adult who asks you to keep a secret is, uh, probably bad, and you should probably go tell your abuela or your dad that secret right away, but... um, in _this_ particular case, do you think you could--”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, dumbass,” Ellie said, her face glowing. Peter was a little startled, because _language_ , but as if to prove her relation to Wade, she just kept right on talking before he could interject. “It’ll be our secret! It’s gonna be _so cool_ , we can have code names and I’m gonna be the _only_ kid at school who knows more than one super, so Aiden Hunt can _suck it._ He think’s he’s the shit coz his dad’s a fireman and he met Iron Man once, but _my_ daddy’s dating someone even _cooler_ . Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell him, but I’ll still _know_. If you wanna, we can pinkie promise?”

Peter, who hadn’t felt this bowled over by Wade’s ramblings in a long time, hooked his pinkie into hers when she offered it.

“Language,” he told her, and she grinned and stuck her tongue out at him. Wade chose that moment to sidle over and slide an arm around Peter’s waist.

“Makin’ deals?” Wade asked. His mask was already off, and he was looking pretty delighted, generally. “Pete, this is Sofía Camacho, Ellie’s abuela. Sofía, le presento a mi novio, Peter Parker. Está bien buenote, eh? Mire que buen culo tiene. Es perfecto.”

Sofía laughed at whatever Wade had said to her.

“Es un placer concerte, Peter,” she said to him. “¿Como lo aguantas? Debes ser un santo para poder soportalo.”

Peter smiled politely, lost.

“She said it’s nice to meet you,“ Wade said. Ellie snickered, and Peter was immediately suspicious.

“It’s, uh, encantada, ma’am,” he said, fumbling for what little Spanish he knew. Sofía beamed at him, clasped his hands briefly, then turned around and led them all further into the house.

Ellie dropped into step with Peter and Wade, and whispered to Peter, “Daddy told her you have a nice ass, and that she should look when she gets a chance, and she said you must be a saint for putting up with him.”

Peter’s mouth fell open. “He said _what_?”

Wade gasped, loudly. “Ratted out by my own blood!”

“We’re making another deal, Ellie,” Peter said, holding out his pinkie. “You’re going to translate for me. And teach me Spanish. I don’t trust this one.”

“You prob’ly shouldn’t,” Ellie told him, linking their fingers again. “He cheats at Battleship _all the time_.”

Peter looked at Wade and smiled warmly at how happy he looked to have the two of them picking on him. “I believe that.”

* * *

**Sunday, January 17, 2016: 10:13 am**

Peter’s camera was missing.

Sergio wanted some new photos to feed into their various social media et cetera, blah blah exposure, Peter had stopped listening. He had promised, after providing a long and protracted lecture on care and usage, that he’d let them use his very fancy, very expensive camera, which he had spent years saving up for and which he treasured.

And which was now missing.

He had searched everywhere. His apartment just wasn’t that big. It wasn’t in any of the obvious places, or any of the stupid places, or any of the places he would’ve been horrified to find it. It wasn’t anywhere.

Teetering on panic and trying to trace his steps back from the last time he’d used it, he pulled out his phone and called Wade.

“Hey beautiful, what can I do to you?”

Peter was not in the mood for Wade’s peppy voice right now. He clenched one hand in his hair.

“Have you seen my camera?” He didn’t exactly _demand_ , but it was a close thing.

“Uhhhh,” Wade said. Peter heard objects being moved around and drawers being opened and shut on Wade’s end. He imagined that he was probably in his bedroom. “Yep! Here it is.”

Peter straightened in surprise. “It’s there?”

“Sure is, baby boy! Wanna come over and pick it up?”

“I-- not right now, but--” He frowned, then turned around in a circle in the middle of the floor, staring around as though he’d suddenly find the camera on the end table and prove Wade wrong. “How’d it get there?”

Peter could _feel_ Wade’s shrug. “I dunno. You prob’ly brought it over at some point, and now it’s nice and safe here on a shelf, don’t worry.”

Why would Peter have brought his camera to Wade’s? He didn’t remember there ever being a _reason_ to bring it over. In fact, he remembered deciding _not_ to last month, because they were spending Christmas Eve at Aunt May’s and Christmas with Ellie, and he didn’t want to forget to bring it.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said. He stood there, absently rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his empty apartment while Wade chattered in his ear.

“Sure it does! You’re over here all the time anyway, makes sense that your stuff would be here too, doesn’t it? It probably got brought over here randomly, who knows. It’s no biggie, baby boy.”

Peter’s apartment was _very_ empty, now that he was really looking around. Emptier than usual. He had a vague idea that all his old textbooks and notebooks had migrated to the bookshelf in Wade’s living room, but didn’t remember actively making that decision. He knew that the empty hangers _and_ the empty laundry basket weren’t his doing. He had specifically had a talk with himself about only taking a few things to Wade’s. About not moving too fast. Being reasonable. All that sort of thing.

“Wade,” Peter said, walking over to the kitchenette area and opening a cupboard. It was empty, just as it had been when he’d searched earlier. “Where are my Spider-Man cups?”

“They’re...” He could hear Wade moving through the apartment. “In the cupboard here! They go great with _my_ Spider-Man bowls! We should get the whole set, Webs, use ‘em for fancy dinner parties.”

Peter could not imagine having a fancy dinner party, with or without ridiculous knock-off Spider-Man dishes.

“I definitely didn’t bring my cups to your place,” Peter said instead. He opened another cupboard, and another. Empty again. “Wade, did you take _all_ my stuff?”

“I didn’t _take_ it!” Wade said. Whined. “It was... okay, so maybe I _did_ , but it wasn’t like stealing.”

The kitchenette was entirely empty but for a single sad, slightly melted plastic bowl and a box of mac n’ cheese. On a hunch he walked over to the bathroom. “Wade, you took my stuff without asking and put it in your apartment,” he said, when he found his first aid kit missing. “Like, _all_ my stuff. That’s the definition of stealing.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t notice,” Wade countered, like that was some kind of reasonable argument. “And anyway, you still have access to it! Totes doesn’t count as stealing. You can come access it right now. Or in the morning. Or at three am. Any time you want! Mi casa es su casa, mi amado.”

Peter’s toothbrush was still in the bathroom, which wasn’t particularly telling since he had a spare at Wade’s. Peter’s razor was gone, though, which was actually on him. He’d taken it over last week. His soap and shampoo made the migration a couple weeks ago, which he had noticed but not realized the significance of. Wade moved those, too, of course.

“Basically all my stuff is at your place except my futon, my desk, and the tv,” Peter said, closing his medicine cabinet and looking at himself in the mirror. He was smiling the same stupid half-smile he always had when Wade did something ridiculous and Peter thought he shouldn’t encourage him, but secretly didn’t mind in the slightest. It was becoming habitual. “Wade, what the heck.”

“Guess you might as well come stay here tonight,” Wade said with an obviously fake sigh. “Otherwise you’re gonna end up sitting there all alone in the dark, missing your stuff.”

“In the dark?” Peter asked, leaving the bathroom. He squinted at the empty space by the window. “Wade, you took my _lamp_!”

“It misses you,” Wade said. Peter heard something clinking in the background, and then Wade was putting on a high pitched voice and things were getting weirder. “It says ‘ _Peter! Come join us! We like it here at Wade’s! He’s making taaaacos for dinner tonight!!_ ’” Then, in his normal voice, “Don’t tell him that! It was gonna be a surprise, you fuckin’ oversized dildo!”

Despite how obvious Wade’s intentions seemed, Peter thought he should check before diving in headfirst. “Stealing my lamp,” he said, ignoring and interrupting the little argument Wade was still having with the lamp. “Is that like... Deadpool-speak for asking me to move in with you?”

Silence fell for long enough that Peter pulled the phone away from his ear to check that he hadn’t dropped the call.

Finally Wade spoke. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Peter repeated, sprawling now on his futon. He put the phone on speaker and set it on his chest, smiling widely. “Why maybe?”

“Depends on your reaction,” Wade admitted. “It’s either a romantic scheme or a daring prank. You decide.”

“It was neither romantic, nor daring,” Peter reminded him. “It was blatant theft of just about all my worldly possessions.”

“But was it blatant like scheming, or prankery?” Wade asked, sounding serious.  “Oh, or I guess it could have just been general tomfoolery, but I don’t know where that leaves us, so you can’t pick that one now that I think about it, Petey.”

“Tomfoolery is out,” Peter agreed solemnly. Wade made a noise like a frustrated tea-kettle, so Peter took pity on him. “Of course I’ll move in, big guy. You could’ve just asked me.”

“Nah, this was more romantic,” Wade said. Peter could hear the smile in his voice.

“Not romantic,” Peter reminded him. “Theft.”

“Romantic theft,” Wade sighed dreamily. “The best kind of theft.”

“You’re--” Peter cut himself off. He had been about to call him an idiot, but he didn’t want to be someone who put Wade down, ever. Even for things like this, even jokingly. He was getting better and better at catching those little throwaway comments. “You’re really something.”

“Damn right I am,” Wade agreed, sounding pleased with himself.

“I’ll bring the rest of my stuff over when I get back from Aunt May’s,” Peter said. “I don’t know what to do with the futon, though--”

“We gotta keep the futon,” Wade said immediately. “It has sexy vibes. It can go in the living room.“

“Uh, sure.”

“Don’t worry bout a thing, baby boy.” It sounded on Wade’s end like he was up and moving around, again. “Just come home after you and Miss May are done catchin’ up, and I’ll have it all ready for ya.”

“Come home?” Peter repeated, smiling again.

“Back here,” Wade said. He hesitated, then pushed on as though he hadn’t. “Yeah. You should probably let your landlord know you’re bailing.”

“He won’t mind,” Peter said, beaming around at his empty former-apartment. “He’ll get to raise the rent all at once instead of little by little every six months.”

* * *

**Thursday, January 21, 2016: 2:55 pm**

**_Peter. ur place is empty_ **

**_what the shit_ **

**_did u get robbed_ **

_No, I moved in with Wade._

_**when did this happen?!!** _

_**y didnt u tell me??** _

_Like two days ago, chill out._

_I only told my landlord today._

_**dammit** _

_**I was gonna ask u to keep it** _

_**so I cld use it** _

_Seriously, Johnny?_

_**I’d pay rent 4 u!!** _

_omg no._

_Why are you even at my place?_

_How often are you there when I’m gone?_

_It’s three pm on a Thursday, Johnny._

_**omg dude like ALL the time for real** _

_**it’s my fortress of solitude** _

_It’s my apartment._

_**not nemore, asshat** _

_**It couldna been OUR fortress of solitude** _

_**but no** _

_**u were selfish and didn’t tell ur bestie when u were makin a major life decision** _

_**so we all lose now** _

_You called it a shoebox once._

_**a nice shoebox tho** _

◔_◔

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews!! Let me know if I need to fix any of the spanish. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!!
> 
> [kavinnskyy](http://kavinnskyy.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr made an awesome [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/idkilikethis/half-your-age-plus-seven) playlist for the songs Peter's band plays if you want to go have a listen. :)

* * *

[ _Oh please, leave me alone tonight_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _Forget the past_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

  **Thursday, February 4, 2016: 4:23**

Peter’s pocket buzzed halfway through a conversation with Janice, one of the other scientists in his lab. He ignored it and wrapped up some of the details of the next phase of their experiment with her, and only remembered to check again when he was in the breakroom, eating a sandwich and debating a cup of coffee.

It was an email from HR asking to please double check his new address and confirm the changes. Peter frowned as he read through it. It wasn’t from Ms. Pierce. In fact, the signature was a QR code. Must’ve been an automatic thing.

He hit ‘reply’, glanced at the address, and sent a quick confirmation that he’d gotten it correct.

“Mr. Parker,” said a disembodied voice that caused Peter to spill half the contents of his sandwich into his lap. “That address already exists in our system under a different name.”

“Um,” Peter said, picking the bits of lettuce and turkey off his pants and dropping them on his napkin. “Okay. Hi. Are you... JARVIS?”

He’d never had cause to meet JARVIS. Peter made a strict point of not coming into Stark Tower as Spider-Man, and he had quite frankly assumed that Stark’s AI wouldn’t bother with employee-level business.

“Yes, forgive my rudeness,” JARVIS said. Peter nodded slowly, looking up at the tops of the walls and the ceiling. There was a small camera in one corner, and he focused his attention there. He had a lot of questions, but most of them were of the gushing scientific curiosity variety and not exactly related to this little HR issue, so he put them aside for the time being.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” he replied. “Are you like... Ms. Pierce’s boss or something?”

“I was called upon to verify your new address absolutely,” JARVIS said. “I have been told there was a ‘mix-up’. We will need you to re-confirm your address, and bring in a piece of mail as another layer of authentication.”

“A piece of mail?” Peter asked, bewildered. “It’s just an address change. I don’t even get mail from here. I have direct deposit.”

“All the same,” JARVIS said. “We already have your address in our system as belonging to another person. That requires further confirmation.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Well, I just moved in with someone. Does that make it make sense?”

There was a pause. “Not especially,” JARVIS admitted. Peter huffed and dropped the rest of his sandwich on the table.

“Fine, hang on,” he said, dusting off his hands as he stood up. “I picked up the mail on my way to class this morning, it’s in my bag.”

He walked down the corridor, passing a couple people as he went. “Um,” he said, glancing up at the ceiling and feeling weird talking to himself now that he wasn’t alone in the breakroom. “Should I scan it into a computer for you or something?”

“I should be able to read the envelope if you set it down on a table,” JARVIS said smoothly, and wow, Peter was a lot more creeped out by that information than he expected to be. No more doodling on his notepad at work, then. Was that level of surveillance of employees even legal? He was going to have to go back through his employee contract with a fine tooth comb and see what exactly he’d agreed to.

Peter reached his desk and found the mail in the front pocket of his bag. He shuffled through it, rolling his eyes at Wade’s ‘Lighthouse Digest’ and making a mental note to cancel another unnecessary subscription. Wade might be single handedly keeping the magazine business alive out of sheer eccentricity.

“Okay, here,” he said, finding a credit card offer in his own name and plunking it down on the desk. “My name, my new address.”

JARVIS was silent for long enough that Peter glanced around at the ceiling again, wondering if he’d just... wandered off? Or however that worked with a sentient AI. Refocused his attention elsewhere, maybe?

Peter awkwardly packed his mail back into his bag and started to think about how likely it was that someone had already thrown his sandwich away. He had just decided that there was a good chance it could be salvaged when JARVIS spoke again.

“Would you go to the elevator, Mr. Parker?”

“I... would prefer not to do that?” Peter said, imagining himself trapped inside, shouting ‘open the pod bay doors, JARVIS!’ as he plummeted thirty stories. Not that he thought JARVIS was going to try to kill him or anything, but this had been weird already, and Peter didn’t have great past experiences with... robots and things. Did that make him prejudiced against AIs? More to the point, did JARVIS count as his boss? He wasn’t sure.

JARVIS must have noticed his unease or known how distressing his next words would be, because they were spoken in a calming tone. “Mr. Stark would like to speak with you.”

“Tony Stark?” Peter repeated, eyes darting around at his little workspace. Was he about to get fired for moving? It was obvious that they knew he’d moved in with Wade. Could they _do_ that? Why would Tony Stark fire Peter personally? Worse still, was his relationship with Wade some kind of hint of his real identity? Had they somehow figured out that he was Spider-Man? “Um, fine,” he squeaked through his panic, reluctantly leaving the lab again and heading toward the elevators.

Peter didn’t get a chance to press a button after the doors closed. One of the numbers toward the top lit up on its own and he was moving, the light background music a sharp contrast to his mood. He didn’t _think_ they could figure out he was Spider-Man from this. Deadpool and Spider-Man were explicitly _not_ romantically involved, and no one seemed to think they should be (even though it was obvious that they’d be perfect together, come on, Hawkeye, get your shit together. Or actually, maybe don’t).

So then, could they really object to who he was dating? Peter was about ninety nine percent sure it was none of their business, but Wade _had_ been a mercenary, and Peter had been subjected to a lot of background checks when he first got this job. Would this violate some clause of his contract?

He needed to re-read his employee handbook. The brief trip on the elevator wasn’t quite enough to load it up, leaving Peter wide eyed and clutching his phone as the doors opened with a _ding_.

A muffled voice called, “Is that him?”

“Mr. Parker, here to see you, sir,” JARVIS confirmed. Peter stepped out of the elevator and followed JARVIS’s directions toward the entrance to what looked like a huge, high tech fantasy version of his assigned lab downstairs, with clear glass walls and some heavy machinery in the center. And just... a lot of holograms.

Tony Stark himself slid out from under some of the heavy machinery on a creeper. Peter was used to seeing him in his Iron Man suit, and had never seen him look so normal. It didn’t help with the stress at all.

“Mr. Parker,” Stark said, wiping his hand off with a rag before offering it. They shook, Peter tense and still holding onto his phone with his other hand like a lifeline. “Peter? Can I call you Peter?”

“You wanted to speak with me, sir?” Peter said, unable to stop his eyes from straying to some of the cooler tech scattered around. Might as well get an eyeful while he was being fired, right?

“Yeah, this whole address thing,” Stark explained, wandering off and making Peter trail after him through the admittedly very cool lab. “Pretty sure it’s just a big mix-up, but I’ve gotta check.” He picked up a modified servo motor and a screwdriver and started fiddling.

Peter watched what he was doing with fascination. This almost made up for being called up here in the first place. “The address I gave JARVIS is the right one,” Peter said.

“Yeah, it’s gotta be on our end,” Stark agreed, sticking the screwdriver behind his ear and twisting some wires together. “Thing is, that address is on file as Deadpool’s. Funny, huh? He must’ve moved out and not bothered to update with us. That guy’s kind of a whackjob, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him? So you see why I had to check.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “I’ve definitely heard of him. And he hasn’t moved out.”

Stark glanced up at Peter, and did a double take when he spotted the look on his face. “You’re suggesting that you knowingly moved in with Deadpool.”

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything,” Peter disagreed. “I moved in with Wade Wilson.”

“Yeah,” Stark said, setting down his tools and finally giving Peter his full attention. “Wade Wilson, Deadpool. Merc with a Mouth? He’s a dangerous criminal, Peter--”

“He’s my _boyfriend,_ Mr. Stark,” Peter said. Time to bite the bullet and see if he was about to be fired over this. “I know who he is and what he used to do.”

“Used to do,” Stark said, looking incredulous.

“He works for SHIELD now, doesn’t he?” Peter asked, crossing his arms. “If I’m wrong, go ahead and tell me. Isn’t that why you have his address on file in the first place?”

“Yeah, whatever, fine, that’s not the point.” Stark waved a dismissive hand at Peter’s questions, and pushed onward. “He’s still a maniac, and who knows what he does off the clock? How did you even meet him?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Peter said, getting angry now. “And _I_ know what he does ‘off the clock’. Because he’s my boyfriend. And we live together.”

“Listen, Peter, I’m just concerned that--”

“Is dating him some kind of violation of my contract?” Peter interrupted, and _shit_ , he should _not_ be interrupting the Final Boss of all bosses, but he was either going to be fired or he wasn’t. He pulled out his phone, found that the handbook had finally loaded, and ran a search on ‘employee relations’.

“Violation of-- what? No,” Stark said, scowling. “I’m not warning you about this as your boss. I mean, technically I am, ‘cause I’m your boss but--”

“Forgive me, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, holding up his phone. “But unless I’m not looking carefully enough, which might be the case, there’s nothing in here about it. And he’s contracted with SHIELD, which means--”

“Hey I _said_ it’s not a violation,” Stark snapped, putting his hands on his hips.

“Then why am I here?” Peter demanded. “To hear you use ableist slurs about my boyfriend’s mental state? Or do you have some kind of rule at Stark Industries that you get the final say on who your employees live with? Is there some kind of form I should have filled out for you to sign?”

“Whoa,” Stark said, holding his hands up as though Peter had threatened to hit him. “That’s not what this is, hey.”

“Sir, if there’s anything else I can do for you that’s unrelated to my relationship, I’ll be glad to hear about it,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If not, I’d like to get back to work.”

Stark shook his head and waved Peter away, apparently speechless. Peter stormed back to the elevator and took deep, calming breaths on the way down, slumped against the wall and trying not to freak out. He’d just shouted at Iron Man. As Peter Parker. He’d shouted at the _founder and previous CEO_ of the company he worked for.

Hopefully he wasn’t fired. Hopefully this was the last he’d hear about his and Wade’s relationship at work.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 16, 2016: 1:50 pm**

“I want to apologize again for Tony,” said Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. Peter was too busy fuming to be impressed by her office, or by the little cup of tea she’d offered him when he first sat down. “Obviously he has no business interfering in your personal affairs.”

“Would you call harassing my boyfriend about our relationship because I refused to talk about it ‘employer retaliation’?” Peter asked, squeezing his teacup a little too hard. He could tell it was going to crack soon, and set it down quickly. “Because I think I would.”

“And he had no right to do so,” Pepper said soothingly. “I promise he’ll be dealt with, Mr. Parker.”

“Wade tried to break up with me because Mr. Stark told him to,” Peter said through gritted teeth. That had been an _awful_ fight earlier this week, and had replaced the dinner Peter had planned for Valentine’s Day. His chest still felt tight and painful when he thought about it. “He takes the opinions of the Avengers very seriously, ma’am. They have _no right_ to have an opinion about my relationship. Is Stark just planning to follow Wade around, warning off any potential partners, or is it just because I work here? Because _that can be rectified_!”

Pepper waited patiently while Peter got all of this off his chest, her expression pinched. If she hadn’t looked so appropriately displeased about the whole situation, he would’ve been threatening to sue. He had a feeling she knew that.

“Obviously we would prefer that you stay at Stark Industries,” Pepper said, smoothing out some papers on her desk and glancing at them. “Your work record is exemplary, and your program speaks very highly of you. You’re one of our best and brightest, and we want to keep you, Mr. Parker. Please don’t quit because of Tony’s...” She glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “Childish inability to handle not getting his way.”

Peter cracked a grudging smile for the first time all week.

“I said that off the record, of course,” she added. Peter nodded and sat back in his seat, feeling more calm.

“Can you just make him stop?” he asked, rubbing his temple with one hand and looking at her imploringly. “I don’t think Wade’s ever mentioned having a conversation with Tony Stark before that wasn’t work related. It shouldn’t be difficult for him to keep it professional with _both_ of us.”

“I will make him stop,” she promised. Peter was impressed with how certain she sounded about controlling Iron Man. Even he sometimes had difficulty convincing Wade to be reasonable, and he was Spider-Man. To his knowledge, Pepper Potts had no superpowers to speak of. No fancy gadgets, either. “Do you want a formal apology?”

Peter was tempted. Seriously tempted. But... “No,” he said. “Not in person, anyway. I’ve never had to talk to him before, either. I’d rather not stay on his radar about this.”

“That’s understandable,” Pepper said with sympathy. She opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a file. “But you should know that you’ve already been on his radar, Mr. Parker. I think that’s part of why he handled this so badly.”

Peter sat up straight in his chair, concerned. “Excuse me?”

“Like I said, you’re one of our best and brightest.” She smiled at him. “You’re on a shortlist to replace one of our department heads that’s retiring in the next few years. Once you’ve finished your doctorate, of course. Tony’s taken a particular interest in your field recently, and he wanted to hand-pick the replacement.”

“Oh,” Peter said faintly. “Really?”

“We’ll talk more about that when the time comes,” Pepper assured him. “In the meantime, to apologize for this whole disaster, I’m going to reduce your hours.”

“My-- no, what?” Peter asked. “I can’t do that, I--”

“I spoke to Dr. Turpin about why you’re taking on so much at once, and we both agreed that you should be focusing more on your dissertation,” she continued, ignoring Peter’s interruption. “I’m going to make an exception to the rule about hourly requirements. Go back to your old work schedule, Mr. Parker: we’ll still cover your tuition.” She smiled at him. “Consider it an investment.”

“Is this like... a bribe?” he asked weakly.

“It’s an investment,” Pepper repeated firmly. “I’ll have Tony draft written apologies for both you and Wade, and have them sent by mail.”

Peter nodded. “And he won’t--”

“He will stay out of your private life, and Mr. Wilson’s,” she assured him. “I really do want to apologize again for how inappropriate it all was. I’m certain that the two of you have a very loving and happy relationship, and that it’s not the business of Stark Industries to know one way or another if that’s true.”

“It is true,” Peter said, because it was, and if nothing else, he wanted that to be made clear. “Wade is a loyal, thoughtful, and all around awesome boyfriend.”

“I’m glad,” Pepper said, smiling. She stood up and stepped around her desk, and Peter climbed hastily to his feet in time to take the card she offered. “If you have any further trouble, please let me know and I’ll handle it personally. Let me walk you out.”

Peter followed her to the door and stepped out into the foyer where her assistant sat typing away at her desktop. Tony Stark was slouching in a chair by the exit, a petulant line creasing his forehead. He sat up when he saw them, and Pepper led Peter past him, holding up one finger to forestall any comments from that direction.

“Thank you for coming to speak with me, Mr. Parker,” she said. Peter nodded and shook her hand when she offered it. “I hope we can put all this behind us.”

Peter glanced at Stark over her shoulder. “I hope so, too,” he said. The heavy door closed behind him as he stepped out into the hallway, and he could faintly hear a raised voice coming from the other side. He thought it sounded female, and grinned to himself as he walked to the bank of elevators, an unusually light feeling taking up residence in his chest.

* * *

**Monday, March 21, 2016: 10:16 pm**

For most of the evening, Peter had been sat at his desk in the corner of the living room, squinting and typing and frowning at his laptop in turns. About now, he was in the frowning stage, and Wade seized the opportunity to interrupt.

“I don’t eat no ham n’ eggs, coz they’re high in cholesterol,” he sang, setting a bowl of something saucy and cheesy and noodley in an empty spot next to Peter’s computer and kissing him on the side of the head. “Hey, Petey, do you eat ‘em?”

“Uh,” Peter said, and Wade pointed at him.

“Not at all!” He stopped singing and added, “That’s hamburger.”

Peter smiled up at him. He was wearing most of his Deadpool suit. “Thanks, it looks awesome. Are you going patrolling?”

“Yeah, no worries, baby boy, I’m gonna head out in a few minutes. Relax. Get your shit done.”

Peter leaned back in his desk chair to take Wade’s advice and eat his food. As usual, though Peter had no idea what he’d _call_ whatever Wade had created, it was delicious. He checked his messages while he ate and decided to catch up with MJ.

“Hey Tiger, what’s up?”

Peter swallowed a bite and put her on speaker. “You know me. Always busy.”

“Are you out and about tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Peter said, gently touching his ribs, which had been carefully re-bandaged and wrapped a few hours ago. “I’m a little under the weather. Ran into Sandman yesterday and things didn’t exactly go my way.”

“Oh no, what happened?” MJ asked with concern. It sounded like she might be driving.

“If you ask Wade, it was either kinky sex gone wrong or snowboarding Hydra agents trying to kidnap me to get to him,” Peter said, grinning.

“Did they really need the snowboards in New York?”

“See, I asked that too,” Peter said, carefully spinning his chair so that he could look at Wade as he wandered in and out of the living room, strapping on pouches and holstering weapons.

“We were on a romantic weekend getaway upstate,” Wade called without missing a beat. “They used the snowboards to break into our bed and breakfast and assault us mid-organ grind--”

“Do I have to mention that this wasn’t the story three hours ago?” Peter asked, flushing as MJ laughed delightedly.

“I think you should stick with the new version,” she said to Wade. “It’s got everything a good cover story needs.”

“That’s what I was thinkin’,” Wade agreed cheerfully. “Except, like, tigers.”

“Snow tigers,” MJ suggested.

“You two aren’t allowed to talk anymore,” Peter informed them.

“Ooh, ooh, don’t forget, Big Red,” Wade called as Peter took the phone off speaker, waving him away.

“Tell him I’ve got the measurements,” MJ said. Peter looked at Wade, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she added, “Go on, Peter, tell him.”

“She has the measurements,” he repeated. Wade cheered and bounced away to the window. “What measurements?”

“You’ll see in about a week,” MJ promised. When Peter made an inquiring sort of noise as he watched Wade disappear down the fire escape, she added, “You’ll love it. Just take a picture for me before you ruin it.”

A few seconds of thought had Peter half covering his face with mortified intrigue while MJ cackled and dodged his follow up questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the reviews!


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

[ _Light is red, camera’s on_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _Get yourself a lawyer and a gun_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

**Friday, May 13, 2016, 10:34 pm**

Peter swiped at his forehead with the heel of his palm as he hopped down from the stage after a set, ready to push through the crowd for the bottle of water waiting for him at the bar (hopefully with Wade waiting somewhere nearby, too). He grinned as a few people shouted to him and Steph, who was right behind him. 

"Hey Pete, I want to get everyone--"

"Heeeeey Peter," Johnny said, emerging from the crowd suddenly and steering Peter away. "Sorry Steph, gotta steal him! Super important business, you know, I'll bring him back soon!"

Peter looked over his shoulder at Steph, who, to her credit, just rolled her eyes and waved. He waved back and let himself get dragged away.

"Where're we going?" he asked, frowning. Johnny was leading him to a less crowded part of the venue, ignoring the people who waved and shouted at them as they passed. Usually he'd have at least a wink or a smile for them.

"Black Widow's here," he answered, keeping his voice low. "Saw her heading your way, thought I'd give you some warning."

All the color drained out of Peter's face. "She's... you're saying she's in the building? Right now??"

"Yep," Johnny said. He was acting uncharacteristically serious, which dashed Peter's hopes of this being a joke. He took a deep breath and tried to be rational and think. It might be okay still.

"Did we play her--"

"Yep," Johnny said again. "She's gonna find us, man. You need to freak out and get it out of your system right now so you can act cool when she rolls up. Wade's distracting her."

"Shit," Peter responded, letting the panic briefly consume him. He could do as he was told, sometimes. "Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshit--"

"Okay, now breathe," Johnny instructed. He waited a second, and when Peter didn't react, snapped, "Hey! Breathe, Peter!"

Peter sucked in a harsh breath. Johnny nodded and glanced over his shoulder.

"Good. Now keep doing that. You got this, Pete. She knows what you do at Stark's place, no way she doesn't. She knows you're dating Deadpool. Now she knows about this. None of that connects you to anything else, got it? You've got friends, that's all."

"I've got friends," Peter repeated. It had worked so far. It'd even worked on Wade, way back when he first met Peter Parker and caught on to Peter's stupid habit of writing songs about supers.

He made a mental note to stop doing that.

"Okay, they're heading over, I can see Wade," Johnny said. "Deep breath, man. You've never seen her up close, okay? You don't recognise her."

"Right," Peter agreed. He could do this just fine. It was no big deal that one of the best spies in the world was here, prodding at a secret that only five of the people closest to him knew, and which Peter had kept close his entire adult life. What secret? He didn't have any secrets. He was a totally normal civilian, yes.

He schooled his face into 'totally normal civilian' mode, and rolled his eyes at Johnny, who was grinning pointedly now and telling an off-color joke just loud enough that anyone trying to overhear, could.

Black Widow appeared at Peter's shoulder moment later, her arrival totally silent except for the loud, excitable former-mercenary bouncing at her elbow and chattering loudly, and whom Peter adored unequivocally for it.

"And I said, 'I don't need a legal team, bro, I need another daiquiri!' So then the cuffs come out, right? And I don't have to tell you how Russians are about their gulags. Gotta love them gulags. I fuckin' love Russian though. I always sound so badass and sexy, I bet you know what I mean. You tell the militsiya _,_ _yesli ty khochesh' otshlepat' menya, to ya styanu shtany pryamo seychas_ , and it totes sounds like I’m gonna gut someone in a second!” He spotted Peter and waggled his eyebrows, adding, “ _Nu, yesli ty menya ne otshlepayesh', to, mozhet, ikh vedushchiy pevets eto sdelayet._ ”

"Hello," Black Widow said to Peter, totally ignoring Wade aside from a slight twitch of her fingers when he said whatever he'd said in Russian. It was honestly impressive. "I'm enjoying the music so far."

Peter blinked at her. She wasn't even pretending to have a good reason to talk to him. Was this a test? She must know. Why was meeting his heroes as Peter Parker always so stressful? Shit. Shit shit shit shit--

"Thanks," he said, proud of how normal he sounded. "I'm glad you're having a good time. Serg would want me to ask, uh, have you found us on... Twitter?"

Johnny snorted and elbowed him. “Look at Peter, acting like he remembers what the twitter handle is.”

“Petey,” Wade said, sliding over to Peter’s side and looping an arm around his waist. “Check it out. I’m introducing you to Black Widow! Never say I didn’t help you meet cool people, hot stuff.”

“You’re Black Widow?” Peter repeated, leaning heavily against Wade’s side. Wade squeezed his shoulder and beamed sunnily at everyone through his mask.

“I am,” she agreed. “You can call me Nat.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He could call her _what?_ He was allowed to call Black Widow by a _nickname?_ “Um, wow,” he squeaked. “It’s nice to meet you, uh... yeah. Um. Nat. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“So I’ve gathered,” she replied, watching him steadily. “Who comes up with your songs?” Peter forced himself to remain casual and calm.

“Oh, uh, it’s a joint effort between Steph and I, and--”

“Spidey and I help sometimes,” Johnny cut in.

“Ooh, ooh, me too!” Wade added, dropping his arm away from Peter to strike a dramatic pose. “I’m Petey’s _muse._ ”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed at the single raised eyebrow _Nat_ was aiming at him now.

“Yeah, he kinda is,” he admitted. “And Johnny and Spider-Man, they tell me a lot of stories. I guess that’s inspiration, too. And Steph and I always come up with good stuff when we brainstorm together. She wrote one of my favorite songs we do, actually...”

“Was it the one you played earlier?” Black Widow asked, her expression betraying only simple curiosity. “How did it go? ‘[With a thousand lies and a good disguise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTbB703XZFM).’”

Internal screaming wasn’t something you could see in someone’s face, was it? Because if so, Peter was screwed. He couldn’t blatantly lie to her. She’d know, wouldn’t she? She’d definitely know. Who was he kidding, that was her song. She knew already. “Oh, uh, actually that was me. With these guys, you know, telling me stories. And stuff.”

“It must have been a very good story,” she said.

“Yeah, it really was,” Peter agreed. He glanced at Wade, hoping for an interjection. “It’s probably one of our more popular songs, actually.”

“I noticed,” she agreed with a faint smile. She glanced around, taking in their surroundings with a sharpness that made him realize suddenly that she _hadn’t_ been looking at him like that. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your break. I’m glad I got to meet you, Peter.”

“Y-yeah, same. It was an honor to meet you,” Peter said, sincere and startled. What did that mean? Did she know? She must. Right?

She vanished into the crowd, and Peter stared after her, mouth hanging open. Then he turned and punched Wade on the arm.

“Where were you just now?” he demanded, while Wade yelped and rubbed his arm. “You can tell my thesis advisor that we met during a hostage situation at the Pentagon, but when we’re all talking about the _stories_ you and Johnny tell me, you’re radio silent?!”

“I got nervous!” Wade exclaimed. “She’s super badass, she wasn’t gonna believe the one I had cooked up about a civil war in the sewers with alligator steeds! And then she’d wonder why I was lyin’ to her an’ I didn’t want her thinkin’ about it _more_!”

“Yeah, and you did great, Pete!” Johnny said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture when Peter glared at him as a result. “She didn’t even look annoyed when she left, and I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ her not looking annoyed.”

“Annoyed or murderous,” Wade agreed thoughtfully, craning his neck over the crowds to look for her.

Peter considered who was giving him this information and decided to take it with a grain of salt. “So you think she doesn’t know?”

“Oh, she knows,”  Johnny disagreed, right as Wade said,

“She definitely knows, baby boy.”

Peter groaned and covered his eyes with both hands.

“The real question is if she’s gonna tell anybody,” Wade added, tugging at one of Peter’s hands. “An’ I think you’ve got good odds there.”

* * *

**Thursday, June 23, 2016: 10:28 am**

“Peter, they’re here! She’s here!”

Peter pushed his glasses up his nose and lifted his head from the notebooks scattered in a wide semi circle on the bed around him to look out into the hallway. It being the summertime, he was occasionally allowed to work on his dissertation from home, when what he was doing didn’t directly require a lab. He’d been on and off focusing all morning while Wade blazed through the apartment like a lemon-scented whirlwind, cleaning things that didn’t need cleaned and (to Peter’s mild irritation) ignoring Mount Stank, as he’d taken to calling their overflowing laundry basket in his head.

“Who...?” Peter asked, not quite loud enough for Wade to hear him. He shifted some papers and dragged himself out from under his work to poke his head into the living room and find out what visitor had Wade so excited.

“Thaaanks Emily, I _promise_ nothing’ll go wrong, my baby boy’s home, he’s totes responsible, even buys vegetables when he goes grocery shopping, which is just another way in which he’s an adult! We only eat fast food sometimes nowadays, we’re like health gurus--” Wade was saying to the woman at the door. Peter vaguely recognized her as Agent Preston, which meant--

“Charlotte!”

“Hey, Ellie,” Peter said, smiling ruefully at the nickname. “How’s your abuela?”

Ellie dropped her backpack and immediately got down to snooping around the apartment while Wade continued chatting Preston’s ear off. “No entiendo tu inglés perezoso,” she said in a lilting sing song, picking up a framed photo of Peter and Wade and examining it carefully.

“Oh,” he said, watching as she set it down and wandered over the the bookshelf. He took a second to switch mental gears and said, “Yeah, uh... Cómo está tu abuela?”

“Me está volviendo loco! Va a volver a trabajar el próximo semana,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes heavily. “Ella ha estado limpiando la casa sin parar desde mayo, así que será bueno para ella _finalmente_ regresar al trabajo.”

Peter squinted as he tried to parse the words she'd said into something he understood. "She's crazy... works too much? Is very clean?"

"Are we talkin' shit about Emily?" Wade asked, having finally finished talking at the door. He smoothed down Ellie's hair and bent to kiss the top of her head. "Sounds like it."

"Have you guys been working on your flashcards?" Ellie demanded, putting her hands on her hips and scowling up at her father. "Coz you promised you would make him do it, daddy, and he's not any better than he was last time."

"Hey," Peter said, a little insulted. "We've been practising. I know how to insult every kind of jerk, now." He also understood a lot of the filthier language Wade used in bed, but that wasn't getting brought up right now.

“It’s true,” Wade agreed, though he looked guilty. “Colloquialisms are important in language learning, Ellie-belly.”

“Está lleno de mierda,” Ellie said, waving her hand at Wade. Wade laughed, and Peter crossed his arms.

“Hey, _language,_ ” he said, going for a stern expression.

“Okay, maybe he did teach you un poco,” she said, satisfied. Peter grinned as she wandered off to investigate the rest of the apartment. Wade took the opportunity to drape himself over Peter’s back and tuck his chin onto his shoulder like he wanted something.

“So... I maaay have promised Ellie s’mores,” he said, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist.

“Were you planning on using the microwave?” Peter asked, watching Ellie poke her head into their bedroom and dismiss it as boring.

“I was just thinkin’ we could start a _teensy_ little fire--”

“If the fire department shows up during Ellie’s first visit, do you think Preston’s gonna let her come back?” Peter asked, softening the blow by squeezing Wade’s forearm.

He didn’t have to see Wade’s face to know he was pouting. “What about s’more ice cream?” Peter suggested instead.

“Oh, yeah, and there’s s’more pop tarts, and s’more cookies. S’more brownies!” Wade said, perking up. He planted a sloppy kiss on Peter’s cheek and pulled away, raising his voice. “Ellie-vator! I’m gonna go get us _all_ the s’more-based food items!”

A muffled cheer resonated from inside the bathroom, and Peter laughed as Wade rushed around, gathering his mask, wallet, and phone. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Once he’d gathered everything, he paused and looked at Peter, eyes wide. “Are you-- is it okay if I leave? Do you think I should bring Ellie? Should we all go?”

“Preston said we shouldn’t be advertising that she’s here,” Peter reminded him gently. “Just see if Ellie’s okay with staying with me, or I can go for you.”

“Ellie! Can you stay with Peter while I go get the s’mores?” Wade shouted. This time Ellie’s voice came from the spare room.

“I’m gonna build a mattress castle!” she shouted back, followed by three large thumps a moment later.

“Shine on, you crazy diamond,” Wade called back. He kissed Peter, tugged his mask on, and vanished out the door, rambling cheerfully to himself about the possibility of s’more tacos.

Peter immediately went to investigate the spare room, and found that Ellie had created an actual disaster zone in the minute and a half since she’d stepped foot inside.

“This doesn’t _look_ like a mattress castle,” Peter said, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. “It looks like you propped the mattress up against the wall and tipped the desk on its side, which-- how did you do that?”

“I took the drawers out,” Ellie said from inside her mattress lean-to. Peter crouched down and craned his neck to try and figure out where exactly she _was_ in all the mess.

“Well, at least you took the drawers out,” he said. He hesitated, then added, “Ellie, I know your dad is kind of... permissive, but--”

“I shoulda asked before I moved the furniture, huh?” she said, her head emerging from behind a drifting sheet. Her guilty expression looked so much like Wade’s, it almost hurt. Peter offered her a small smile.

“That’d be the polite thing to do, yeah,” he agreed. And then, because he was a sucker for the Wilson-Camacho Guilty Face, “And anyway, we can do better than this. This looks like a hobo threw it together in an alley to have somewhere to sleep.”

“Wow, Charlotte, _rude_ ,” she said, crawling through the mess to where Peter had sat down by the doorway. She turned around and stared at her creation, and scrunched up her face. “Okay, yeah, it kinda sucks.”

“I think,” Peter said, eyeing the structure thoughtfully, “That if we utilize the boxspring and the desk as walls, and the mattress as the ceiling, it’d be a little more sturdy.”

“Oooh,” Ellie said, nodding. She squirmed and lifted her hands, making odd shapes in front of the ‘castle’. “And if we’re careful-- could we have _two floors?!_ ”

“If you’re okay with the second floor having blanket walls and being an Ellie-only zone,” Peter agreed.

“Hell yes!”

Peter frowned. “Hey--”

She beamed at him and leapt to her feet. “I mean, that’d be awesome! C’mon, Peter, we gotta finish before daddy gets back.”

They got the whole thing done in less than ten minutes. Despite Peter’s insistence that his web shooters were not toys, he ended up using a liberal amount of webbing to make sure the whole thing didn’t come crashing down on their heads when Ellie tried out the second floor.

“Well, it’s not OSHA compliant, but it’ll do,” Peter joked, once they were both sitting inside the completed castle. Ellie stared at him blankly from the second floor, so Peter snapchatted her confused expression and sent it to Wade after adding, ‘Your kid has no appreciation for how funny I am.’

Wade responded with a photo of an unreasonable amount of marshmallow-based foods in a shopping basket and multiple heart emojis, and Ellie squealed and made grabby hands at Peter’s phone.

He relinquished it, curious to see what she’d do, and watched as she went immediately for the filters and sent her dad a picture of herself as a puppy, making a horrible face.

“You should tell him about the castle,” Peter suggested, leaning back on his elbows on the floor below her. In response, she stuck out her tongue and angled the phone so that he had a butterfly crown.

“Daddy has to make his own castle when he gets home,” she decided, after taking several more pictures. “Then we can go to war.”

“But he has all the s’mores,” Peter pointed out. She frowned.

“We’ll have to lay siege to his castle and steal them.”

Peter grinned and did a duck face when she turned the camera on him again. “Why can’t our two kingdoms have peace?”

“Coz we’re gonna win,” she said with certainty. She sat up and took one more picture of them both with devil horns and sent it off. “We’re gonna need supplies.”

Somehow, Peter ended up not only allowing, but helping her to drag half the contents of the kitchen into the mattress castle. He might have gotten a little invested when she suggested they needed a periscope.

“Hurry up and finish that juice, I need the container for the top,” he said, sitting cross legged in the castle, surrounded by duct tape, scissors, and a couple hand mirrors he’d dug up out of the bathroom.

Ellie chugged the last quarter of the orange juice straight out of the carton, shook it upside down over her mouth to make sure it was empty, and tossed it to Peter. He caught it without looking up and cut right into it.

“How can you make one out of juice?” she asked, after a minute of watching him fiddle with the bits and pieces.

“Oh, it’s just mirrors,” Peter said, immediately holding up the half finished periscope for her to examine. “Here, look, if we put this one here at a forty five degree angle, then we can see the top of the carton, right? So if we put _another_ mirror at the top at the same angle, then we’ll be able to see straight ahead, and that’s really all a periscope is, you know?”

Peter finished the periscope with Ellie draped over the side of the mattress, watching raptly and asking rapid fire questions that Peter answered as thoroughly as he could.

“You know,” he said hopefully, once Ellie had tested out the periscope and declared it perfect for espionage. “There’s this place not too far from here called the Hall of Science; it’s got all kinds of cool stuff like this that you can play with, and I’m pretty sure the skeleton exhibit is still going on.”

“I like skeletons,” Ellie declared, trying to snapchat Peter through the periscope. Peter reached up a hand to hold it steady for her and beamed.

“I’ll get Wade to ask Agent Preston and your abuela, then,” he offered. “Maybe we can go this month.”

“Yesss,” Ellie hissed, and even though Peter was pretty sure she was just happy she’d managed to turn him into a deer through the mirrors, he took it as a good sign for their future science field trip.

Wade arrived home soon after, defenseless and unprepared for their assault. Ellie declared victory after a brief but furious struggle, and flew the Deadpool mask as their new castle flag. It was a cruel, but effective tactic in securing his surrender, and Peter convinced her to let Wade join them in the castle as a prisoner of war.

* * *

**Saturday, August 6, 2016: 11:36 pm**

“But how did he know how to fly it?”

“My Pete’s a man of many talents,” Wade said solemnly. He was at the bar, a few seats down from where Steph, Peter, Sergio, and Jimmy were trying to have a quick band meeting, telling more of his outlandish lies to a group of unsuspecting fans.

“Also, he’s kind of a genius, so he figured it out by reading the manual,” Wade added. For some reason, despite the story already containing absurdities on par with the Da Vinci Code, that particular line broke Steph. She put her head down on the bar and shook with laughter.

“Hey, he’s just telling it how it happened,” Peter said in an undertone, grinning. She sat back up and pulled the setlist away from Sergio, still snickering.

“He read the manual,” she repeated, wiping a tear from her eye. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I liked the one where you get kidnapped by the X-Men and Wade has to fight to the death for your honor,” Jimmy said, gesturing to the bartender for another drink.

“That’s also how it happened,” Peter agreed blithely. The band had generally accepted that they weren’t going to get a straight answer out of Wade about anything to do with his relationship with Peter, and Peter had assured them that it was all bound up in Wade’s work with SHIELD, so he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. That, coupled with Black Widow’s (Nat’s?) continued silence on the matter, meant that Peter was happily maintaining the status quo.

“Condors are tricky beasties,”  Wade was saying seriously to the crowd gathered around him. “And I’m gonna let you know, coz it’s important to the story later, that they _hate_ being flown on. Pete had to earn its trust first. But lemme tell you more about the evil organization that captured me-- this was in Reno.”

“Do you ever write these down?” Sergio asked, handing over a pencil when Steph gestured for it.

Peter turned over his phone to show Sergio that it was recording, just as Wade exclaimed, “-- _fifteen_ men with a boomerang! And that’s not even counting--”

“I’m thinking of writing an anthology,” he said. “Something like ‘Love Stories with Deadpool: the Starcrossed Action Thrillers of our Generation’.”

“‘When Peter Met Die Hard,’” Jimmy suggested.

“‘He’s Into You, and So Are These Eight Evil Villains,’” Steph added, leaning in.

Sergio stabbed at the top of the bar with one finger and declared, “‘Kill Bill: Valentine’s Day Edition.’”

The rest of them met this with various exclamations and raucous laughter, until Peter finally broke through with, “Nothing’s stopping me but the copyright laws.”

“Call it ‘Kill Bob’, baby boy!” Wade called from the other side of the bar. “Hydra won’t sue, and Bob owes me!”

“Who’s Bob?” Jimmy asked. Peter shrugged.

“Wade’s evil henchman buddy,” he said. “I try not to ask too many questions on that one.”

“Let me tell y’all about _Bob_ ,” Wade said loudly to his audience, and Peter rolled his eyes and went back to the set list, sliding his phone closer to where Wade was sitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews!! This is the second to last chapter, guys. I am thinking about writing a few short little ficlets in this universe, if anyone has suggestions for something they wanted to see.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooo sorry for how late this was. I had bronchitis for two weeks, then I got married. SO it was kind of a hectic month for me. But here it is, the last chapter. Thank you for sticking around for so long! Thank you for being a friend. Enjoy!  
> [isaDanCurtisproduction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/) is amazing and helped me make this story as good as it is, especially this last chapter. Go read some of their fics! They're outstanding.

* * *

[ _Oh, the sky’s not the limit_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

[ _and you’re never gonna guess what is._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKsQuZVxPnc)

* * *

**Wednesday, August 17, 2016: 7:30 pm**

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, following Wade down a crowded street and trying not to make too big of a deal out of the fact that Wade wasn’t wearing his mask.

“A place I know,” Wade said, ducking his head as a gust of wind threatened to blow his hood off. “You’re gonna like it, I promise.”

“We don’t have to go out,” Peter reminded him, hooking his hand onto Wade’s elbow. He seemed nervous. “I’m perfectly happy eating at home tonight. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s your birthday, it’s gonna be special,” Wade said. He still looked nervous. “An’ the food here’s like an orgasm in your mouth, you’ll see.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. Wade glanced at him, caught the expression, and let out a bark of laughter. “Not like that, you dirty pervert. Although if you wanted to ‘get dessert’ after, I’m not gonna--”

“Shut up, Wade,” Peter said, grinning. They’d come to a stop outside a small, but upscale looking restaurant. “We’re being classy tonight, aren’t we?”

Wade beamed and opened the door for Peter. “That’s why I’m wearing my designer hoodie.”

***

Wade had either called ahead or (more likely) knew the owner, because they were seated quickly. The server, Cassie, was bouncy and a little overexcited about their orders, but soon they were alone again with their drinks.

“You were right, this is a really nice place,” Peter said, fiddling with his napkin absently as he looked around. Cassie had seated them in a dark corner without being asked, and her smile hadn’t dimmed when she caught sight of Wade’s face.

“Yeah, it is,” Wade said, his tone distracted. Peter’s gaze returned to him to find that he was watching Peter intently. “Uh, I had a question for ya.”

“Sure,” Peter said easily, and waited. Wade shifted in his chair.

“Wi- ah, Do you like rice crispy treats?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so” Peter said, since Wade was weird and this was hardly the oddest thing he’d been asked in the last twenty four hours. “I like the homemade kind better though, does that matter?”

“No,” Wade said, though something about the way he shifted his shoulders and frowned at the table had Peter suspicious.

“You didn’t-- and I’m just throwing out ideas here,” Peter began, raising an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t happen to buy fifty boxes of rice krispy treats or something for my birthday, did you?”

Wade looked up, startled. “No,” he declared. “I would never do something like that, Petey, what do you take me for?”

“I take you for the man who received thirty pairs of winter socks in the mail last week,” Peter reminded him. “It’s mid-August. I think you have an online shopping problem, Wade.”

“I wouldn’t do that for your birthday, though,” Wade muttered, pouting. “I didn’t-- I just wanted--”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Peter said, somewhat contrite, but mostly amused. “I wouldn’t mind if we had some soon.”

“Some what?” Wade asked. Peter gave him a confused glance.

“Rice krispy treats,” he said, as their salads arrived, and with them, their server.

“How is everything?” she asked, pressing her hands together with what could only be excitement. “Are you both having a _wonderful_ night?”

She looked to Wade, then back at Peter, peering down at his drink. It was still pretty full.

“Everything’s great, so far,” Peter assured her, wondering if it wasn’t a little early for that sort of questioning. Didn’t she have other tables to worry about? “Thank you.”

He felt kind of bad when she left, looking a little let down, and they started in on their salads in an unusual silence. Peter found himself wondering at how willingly Wade was stuffing large bites of what he usually scornfully referred to as ‘rabbit food’ into his mouth when Wade finally piped up again.

“Peter,” he said, and something in his tone made Peter look up and take note.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want-- uh, the rest of your bleu cheese?”  he asked, gesturing at the little cup on the side of Peter’s plate.

“No, you can have it,” Peter said, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Is that what it takes to get you to eat salad? I had no idea you liked bleu cheese this much.”

“Huh?” Wade asked, then looked down at his nearly empty plate. “Oh yeah, I love the shit outta bleu cheese.” He glanced at Peter. “Couldn’t have a salad without it.”

“I guess I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter said, handing over the little cup.

“Yeah, um, y’know, like the salad is really sad and kind of dumb,” Wade continued, pouring the entire cup over the last few bits of salad on his plate almost mindlessly. “And then you have this bleu cheese and it’s all delicious and sweet and fun at parties, and you combine the two and it’s like ‘holy shit’ and it’s just this perfect match and you’re like ‘wow how did I ever tolerate salad without bleu cheese? How did anyone?’” He paused and looked up at Peter, who was nodding along slowly and thinking about how many vegetables he’d thrown away when apparently, bleu cheese was all he’d needed to get Wade to eat them. He thought they must have a bottle at home in the fridge, and made a mental note to check later tonight.

He suddenly realized that Wade was expecting an answer, which wasn’t necessarily unusual during one of his spiels. Unfortunately, Peter wasn’t entirely sure what his contribution was supposed to be.  “I’m sure our server would be happy to get you some more if you want?” he offered. “She’s been kind of keeping an eye on us from over there.”

Wade craned his neck toward where she was hovering by the entrance to the kitchen, bouncing in place. When he turned back to Peter, his cheeks were faintly red. “I have enough for now,” he said, then proceeded to painstakingly scoop up and eat every last drop of the bleu cheese, along with the last couple bits of drowned lettuce. Peter watched him with bemusement.

Eventually, after Wade had finished and also sucked down the rest of his drink in one go, Peter changed the subject to his classes and told Wade about what his students had been up to. Cassie came back with their food, wide eyed and peppy until Wade told her they didn’t need anything else. Peter had never seen someone look so disappointed to only have to refill a drink.

Wade took a deep breath while Peter twirled noodles on his fork. “Pete, I-- will you -- go bowling with me?”

“Bowling?” Peter asked, looking up from his food and tilting his head.

“I didn’t--” Wade broke off, looking frustrated. “Never mind.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter said, sitting up straighter. It was clear that this was important to Wade for some reason. “We can go bowling. When did you want to go?”

“No, I don’t even-- I don’t want to go bowling,” Wade said, then doubled back, scowling. “I mean , I do-- bowling is awesome, who doesn’t love knocking down a few pins, I sure do, but I meant-- uh...”

“It’s fine, Wade,” Peter assured him. He didn’t have to think too hard about why Wade was so torn up about the question. They didn’t go _out_ on a lot of dates, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. If Wade was using Peter’s birthday as an excuse to start being more comfortable in his skin in public, Peter was going to support that one hundred percent. “I like bowling, too.”

“Yeah,” Wade peeked up at Peter as he spoke, his eyes kind of squinty and uncertain. “I do too. Ya know, pins and balls and slippery surfaces, but not in like a weird way, yeah, I’m all about it, I’m _down._ And you know how bowling is, it’s better when the ball is thrown with... like _care_ and ya know, and... and I was thinkin’, bowling needs two people, right? And if I have to bowl with someone, you’re the only one I’d wanna bowl with.”

Peter nodded. “Well, usually it’s better with three or four,” he said, only to see Wade’s face fall. He backtracked quickly. “But-- you know, I like spending time with just you, too. We can go bowling, just the two of us. That’s fine.”

“Right,” Wade agreed, picking at the tablecloth. “Yeah, we should do that.”

“I don't have a show Saturday night. We could go then,” Peter said, keeping his voice cheerful and upbeat. It was obvious that Wade was still nervous about the idea, so Peter was going to support him however he could.

“Sure thing,” Wade agreed, picking up his fork and stabbing at his pasta.

Peter nodded, still smiling, and started eating. “This is really good,” he said appreciatively. “You were right earli--”

“Baby boy,” Wade interrupted, clearing his throat and getting out of his seat. He knelt down, and a woman at the next table gasped. “Will you... er-- hang on I dropped my fork. Can ya keep an eye on my food? I gotta pee.”

He left before Peter could answer, so he busied himself with frowning at the woman who’d gasped and probably reminded Wade that he wasn’t wearing a mask. She was very carefully keeping her eyes on her plate, so it looked like she at least knew what she’d done was wrong.

When Wade came back a few minutes later, led by the server, he looked oddly determined.

“Here’s your drink and a new fork!” she declared with more excitement than it really warranted, then stood back instead of leaving and seemed to be waiting.

“Uh, um,” Wade said, not sitting down just yet. He fidgeted with his fingers, then blurted out, “I think we should-- raise the minimum wage, don’t you?”

“Well,” Peter said, startled. Cassie stormed off very suddenly, and the woman at the next table had a coughing fit. Wade sat down, ignoring them all. “Yeah, I mean, yeah, I’m obviously in support of that. Do you think they make minimum wage here or something?”

“Prolly less,” Wade said, waving a dismissive hand. He avoided Peter’s eyes with a discontented crease to his forehead. “It’s just dumb, I dunno. Like, people deserve better. If they can do better, why should they settle for less?”

“Well, Cassie seems like she really enjoys her job,” Peter said, shrugging and picking up his fork again. “Like, weirdly a lot. So maybe it’s worth it to her? And I hear tips make up for it with servers, at least.”

“Gonna have to tip her a small fortune,” Wade muttered to himself, inexplicably. He shoved a large bite of pasta into his mouth a moment later, looking almost grumpy. Peter supposed the minimum wage comment _had_ been kind of tactless.

“I think thirty percent is the high end of standard, but I’m not gonna stop you.” Peter ate another bite of his own pasta, then added, “I’m glad we went out tonight, Wade. This was a great gift. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, baby boy,” Wade said, and looked like he meant it.

***

Later, as they were leaving, Cassie gave them an unexpectedly dispirited goodbye.

“I thought you tipped her really well?” Peter asked when they’d stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“She probably just had a bad night,” Wade said, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Stupid men, plans gone wrong. Maybe she ate something that made her sick. Who knows?”

“I guess so,” Peter agreed, leaning into Wade’s side as they walked. They stopped at a crosswalk and Peter glanced at him and said, “You know, I wasn’t gonna be _mad_ if there were fifty boxes of rice krispy treats in the living room when we get home.”

Wade turned his head and kissed just above Peter’s ear. “I know,” he said. “Cause you’re perf.”

“I mean, I’ll eat them,” Peter continued as they started walking again, grinning. “I was just saying--”

“There’s no rice krispy treats,” Wade said, before Peter could continue. “I had no idea you’d get so fixated on this, Petey. I coulda got you some.”

“It’s okay, I still love you anyway,” Peter assured him. Wade squeezed his shoulders briefly.

“I love you too,” he said after a moment. “Obviously.”

* * *

**Saturday, September 24, 2016: 10:03 pm**

Peter bent his head toward the microphone and looked out into the bright lights and the anonymous crowd. “Hey everyone, don’t forget. We’re gonna be here every Friday this month. Tell your friends, tell your family, tell your coworkers. Uh.” He glanced sideways at Jimmy, who shrugged and leaned in toward his own mic.

“Tell your enemies too,” Jimmy offered. Someone in the crowd booed in response.

“Nah, man, tell your enemies,” Peter repeated, grinning. “But tell them they can’t come, coz we like you guys better.” There was a generally positive response to that, and Peter adjusted his guitar strap, ready to introduce the next song.

Before he could begin, a sudden upswing in cheers and screaming excitement from the crowd had him frowning and looking around for the cause, until someone shouted, “It’s Spider-Man!!”

Peter frowned and glanced over at Jimmy and Sergio, who pointed up at the rafters above the stage, looking just as excited as the crowd sounded.

Sure enough, Spider-Man, or someone _dressed_ like him, was up there, looking for all the world like he’d just wanted a comfy vantage point from which to see the show.

Someone was gonna get their ass kicked. The question was, who?

Peter, doing his best not to actively glare with suspicion at the interloper, leaned toward his mic and said, “Spidey.”

The masked man waved. “Hey, Petey!”

“What are you doing up there?” Peter asked, through gritted teeth. He hoped it looked like a smile. He also hoped this wasn’t a villain of some sort. Worry began to take the place of anger when he realized how many different people might’ve noticed Spider-Man’s relationship to Peter Parker, and decided to take advantage.

“Just hangin’,” Fake-Spidey said. The crowd thought this was hysterical. Peter did not.

“We’re in the middle of a show, you know,” Peter pointed out, and watched with some alarm as Fake-Spidey used _actual webshooters_ to lower himself, upside down and very spider-like, to hang just above Peter’s head where he stood on stage. Just as bad, now that he was closer, Peter could see that that was one of his _actual suits._

Sergio played a few bars of the Spider-Man song from a viral video that had made the rounds online a few years back. The crowd was _delighted._

Peter _was not._

The only consolation so far was that it was obvious that Fake-Spidey didn’t have the real proportionate strength of a spider. He treated the webbing like an aerial dancer might. His movements were very acrobatic. That suggested he didn’t have any of the other powers, either, and was less of a threat.

“Your boyfriend wanted me to come,” Fake-Spidey said. “You know, for moral support.”

Peter replayed those words in his head several times before they made any sense.

He was going to _kill_ Wade.

“Moral support?” Peter echoed, eyebrows raised and thinking of all the ways he was going to murder his stupid boyfriend for handing over his _suit and webshooters_ to a _stranger_ , because Peter didn’t recognize that voice at _all_ , and he didn’t think it mattered if _Wade_ knew the guy or not, because they were _Peter’s_ things, _Spider-Man’s_ things, the _only_ way most people recognised him, and what if this guy took off with them? Who knew what kind of damage he could do?!

The crowd was now officially freaking out, which Peter thought was kind of dumb. It was just Spider-Man. Not even the real Spider-Man. And anyway, he was just hanging there, grinning under his pilfered mask for some reason. Peter had a brief thought that maybe this was Wade’s way of quietly answering anyone who might’ve wondered why you never saw Peter Parker and Spider-Man in the same room, despite that they were supposedly friendly. Maybe this was just another one of his outrageous lies, built around keeping Peter’s secrets safe. If that was the case, well this was still too far--

“Hey Petey.”

Peter turned at the sound of Wade’s voice from the other side of the stage and stared, jaw dropped. Wade was wearing a dress. Not just any dress, though. A lacy _white_ dress, with a _veil_. Despite the suit under the rest of the dress, Peter had a sneaking suspicion that Wade wasn’t wearing anything under the veil.

“What d’you think?” Wade asked, holding out his skirts and swishing them a little. “Does it look good on me?

“Wade,” Peter said, ignoring the way the crowd had fallen silent. He swallowed hard, set his guitar aside, then forced down the jittery anger he was feeling and repeated himself. “Wade.” He glanced at the man hanging behind him. “ _Spidey_ . Both of you come with me, _right now_.”

He pointed toward the room behind the stage. Spidey glanced at Wade, who had wilted like a kicked puppy and started obediently toward the door. He dropped down to the stage and adopted the exact same body language, and Peter waited with his arms crossed for them both to pass.

“What the hell, Peter!” Steph called, standing up and brandishing her drumsticks. Jimmy and Sergio didn’t look any happier with him, and now that Peter was paying attention, the crowd was doing a lot of yelling and booing.

“I’m not--” He turned around and spoke into the microphone to stop everyone from shouting. “Hey! I’m not saying no!”

No one wanted to hear it.

“Come on-- I just have to talk to-- okay, fine, I’ll bring him back out in a second so you assholes can all watch, okay?” he demanded.

The crowd (and Jimmy) cheered. Peter threw up his hands and stormed after Fake-Spidey and Wade, who were hovering in the doorway still.

He made sure the door closed and firmly locked behind them before wheeling around and saying, “What the hell is _this_ all about?” while waving a wild hand at Fake-Spidey. He was still riding the adrenalin spike from earlier, when he’d thought he might have to fight someone in a Spider-Man suit _as himself_ while on stage in front of hundreds of people and cameras. He wasn’t feeling especially reasonable.

Fake-Spidey shrugged. “I just wanted to be here for your big momen--”

“You are _not_ Spider-Man!” Peter snapped. “You think I can’t tell when I’m looking at the real Spidey? Who the _hell_ are you?”

“I hired him to come,” Wade interjected, and Peter could tell that he was both earnest and aware that he was in deep _deep_ trouble. “I wanted Spidey to be here, but obviously he’s got that whole situation with the Avengers right now, baby boy, and--”

“And so you _stole_ his spare webslingers and suit and gave them to a _stranger_ ?” Peter demanded. He wished he could have this fight more honestly, but with Fake-Spidey here, he couldn’t really admit that he was mad because it was _his_ stuff that’d been stolen. “You know he’s gonna kill you? What if this dude took off with them and-- and-- and ran amok?”

“I was gonna get them back!” Wade insisted. “Nobody was gonna ‘amok’, Petey, honest! I woulda taken him out at the knees before I let him get away with stealin’ Spidey’s stuff!”

“Ye-- uh, yeah, that wouldn’t have been necessary, dude, I wasn’t gonna steal them,” Fake-Spidey said, and he _sounded_ terrified, at least. “Deadpool just hired me to play Spidey for the night. I just thought it’d be fun.”

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Peter said to Wade, furious. “What did you do, put out an ad on Craigslist or something?”

Wade and Fake-Spidey glanced at each other, faces unreadable behind their veil and mask, respectively. They both shrugged.

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Peter said. He reached over and tugged the mask off Fake-Spidey’s head to reveal a blonde guy around his age who looked startled to be revealed so suddenly. “Go on, take the rest off.”

Fake-Spidey hesitated. “You mean... like...”

“Yes,” Peter snapped, stuffing the mask in his back pocket. “Webslingers first.”

“Dude,” Fake-Spidey said, but when Peter didn’t budge, he obediently tugged them off and handed them over. Peter crossed his arms and stared expectantly until he sighed and started stripping out of the suit, too. “Seriously, though. You’re just gonna stand there and ignore your boyfriend wearing a goddamn wedding dress? Like, no comment at all?”

“I thought,” Peter said deliberately, ignoring the imposter now that he was no longer an issue and staring right at Wade, “That one of Spider-Man’s enemies had shown up dressed as him. I thought there was going to be a fight right in the middle of one of my shows, Wade.”

Wade, to his own credit, fidgeted nervously as Peter continued to speak. “When I realized that was _actually_ his suit and _not_ him underneath it, I thought something might have happened to him. That someone had discovered his identity,” he continued, watching as Wade’s body language betrayed more and more anxiety. “How else could someone get hold of one of his suits? It didn’t occur to me that someone so _close_ to him would--”

“I’m sorry!” The words burst out of Wade like a minor explosion. “I didn’t think about-- I never think about anything, I’m so stupid, I fucked up, I shouldn’ta done it, Petey, it was the worst idea I ever had, what if I accidentally hired some _crazy dude_ and he _stole_ the suit _oh my god_ \--”

He turned some of his attention to Fake Spidey, who took a step back in alarm and put his hands up, wearing nothing now but a pair of tight boxer briefs. “Hey, remember, we already agreed I wasn’t gonna steal it? Right guys? Remember?”

Peter stepped slightly in front of the guy he’d been thinking about smacking five minutes ago to redirect Wade’s attention back to himself.

“We remember,” he said, a bit of guilt seeping through his outrage and residual fear. None of this was actually Fake Spidey’s fault. He was just answering a _craigslist_ ad. And now Wade was mid-freak out due to Peter’s cold words, which made him the more important person in the room to worry about. “And it’s good that Wade got so lucky in hiring some harmless guy and not a--”

“Petey, I’m sorry, I ruined everything,” Wade moaned, pressing the palms of his hands tight against his eyes. Peter, who recognized this immediately as a sign of actual, genuine, panic, felt the rest of his anger draining away like someone had pulled a plug. “I didn’t realize you’d-- that he’d be that upset if he-- fuck, I really fucked up, didn’t I? I just wanted it to be special and Yellow _said_ you were gonna be annoyed and I shoulda _known--_ ”

“Hey hey hey,” Peter said in a soft voice, stepping into Wade’s space and rubbing his shoulders. “Wade, it’s okay, look at me, it’s ok, I promise.”

After about a minute of gentle cajoling, Wade let Peter pull one of his hands away from his face and guide it to Peter’s waist instead.

“I ruined everything,” he repeated, his limbs still tense and twitchy. Peter shook his head and had to use some of his greater strength to tug the other hand away as well.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, wishing that Fake Spidey wasn’t still hovering near the door, awkward and mostly naked. Never mind the borrowed Spidey suit: there were certain things he didn’t want to say with an audience. “You didn’t think things through and you made a dumb choice, but everything’s fine, Wade.”

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” Wade said, his voice quavering. “All I did was prove that I’m gonna fuck up everything every time. I’m not good enough for you, Petey.”

Peter sighed and lifted the veil enough to drape it over his own head, too, sick of not being able to see Wade’s expression and wanting to give them both a bit of privacy from Fake Spidey. “Are you saying you’re gonna make this same mistake again?” he asked, examining Wade’s eyes and the downturn of his mouth. He was calmer now, thankfully, but sinking into that fatalistic mood Peter hated. He’d have to nip it in the bud before Wade decided to do something stupid.

He wasn’t even a little surprised when Wade replied with, “Prob’ly, knowing me. I’m just gonna keep fucking up til you get fed up and leave me.”

“You haven’t left dishes in the bedroom since May,” Peter pointed out, his hands firm and grounding on Wade’s shoulders. He frowned, so Peter continued. “You don’t let Miss Demolition Derby blow things up in the bathtub anymore, and you stick to the rules I make for her when she visits. You don’t get blood all over the couch anymore. You haven’t ever slipped up--” --by calling Peter the wrong name in public, he knew Wade would gather. “You try really hard, Wade, and you almost never make the same mistake twice.”

“Just new and worse mistakes every time,” Wade said, but he was making brief attempts at eye contact now. Peter smiled encouragingly.

“It keeps me on my toes,” he said. “I don’t mind. You’re good, Wade. You’re great. I love being with you. You take care of me. You’re everything I want. Okay?”

Peter waited patiently as Wade gathered himself enough to nod and say, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated back. “I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

Wade scowled. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but Peter shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have done it the way I did,” he said. “I know how to be angry at you and that wasn’t it. You shouldn’t have to panic every time I get mad.”

Wade shrugged and looked down at his boots. “I deserved it.”

“You did not,” Peter disagreed, leaning up and kissing a scar on his cheekbone. “You deserve to be spoken to like an adult. I’m sorry.”

They stood there in silence for a few long seconds, Wade’s death grip on Peter’s waist and Peter’s tight clasp of Wade’s shoulders having each relaxed into something resembling a hug, until they were interrupted by an unwelcome reminder that they still weren’t alone.

“So like, you two are totally getting married,” the imposter Spidey said. “I can officiate! Y’know, if Spider-Man’s busy. That’d be cool, right? I feel like that’d be really--”

“Hey, do me a favor and get out,” Peter said through the veil, not looking away from Wade, who he was pleased to see was making eye contact again and looking happier.

There was a brief pause. “You gotta be kidding, man. I’m not wearing any pants and the only way outta this room is by the stage.”

“Fine, we’ll all go, then,” Peter sighed, having remembered that he’d promised to come back out on stage anyway. He gave Wade a little half smile and arched an eyebrow at him. “Ready?”

Wade grinned as Peter pulled away, so that his last sight of Wade’s face before the veil obscured him was the way his eyes lit up with excitement.

“We’re gonna-”

“I promised everyone we’d come back out before I said yes,” Peter said. Fake Spidey looked torn between excitement and disappointment.

“What about the tension, man?” he demanded as Peter gathered up the Spidey suit, stuffed it in his bag, and hurried toward the door. “Now I know what’s gonna happen!”

“I don’t care even a little bit,” Peter informed him, shoving him out onto the stage first.

The crowd went _wild_ when they spotted the now mostly naked man who’d previously been wearing the Spidey suit. It briefly occurred to Peter to wonder how much trouble that was going to cause, but he decided he’d deal with it later.

“So,” he said to Wade, once they were back on stage. Now that he was done being angry and being reassuring, he realized that he felt incredibly nervous.“Uh. You were gonna say something?”

Wade glanced at the crowd, most of whom were still distracted by Fake-Spidey’s near nudity as he tried to casually hide behind Sergio and his guitar. A few were watching Peter and Wade, though, and shouted incomprehensible encouragement at them. Several were filming. Peter smiled encouragingly, and Wade took a deep breath.

“Let’s get hitched?”

Peter beamed and rolled his eyes, realizing suddenly that Wade was very likely going to make a habit of making important moments in their relationship a little bit ridiculous, and finding that he didn’t really mind. He was going to very carefully not bring up ‘romantic theft’ in conjunction with this proposal, ever.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, moving closer and linking his arms behind Wade’s neck. “I was always going to say yes.”

“It had to be too big to fail,” Wade told him, immediately proving Peter’s suspicion. He reached up and dropped the veil around both of them again, then slid his arms around Peter’s waist to tug him closer. “So big I couldn’t chicken out. It had to be enormous and obvious. Hundreds of people had to be involved. Petey, this was the _only_ way I coulda done it.”

“I somehow doubt I had to be naked, though,” Fake Spidey interrupted, though he was largely ignored by Peter and Wade.  

“I’ve got a change of clothes if you need it,” Sergio offered.

“Always wanted to get into a musician’s pants,” Fake Spidey replied, leering.

“Before I respond to that, I gotta know if you’re the real Spidey or not,” Sergio told him. “I’m not gonna go bicurious for anything less than the real deal, _mijo_.”

Fake-Spidey shrugged. “I’m contractually required to tell you that I’m the real Spider-Man. Take that as you will.”

“Pretty sure if you’re the real Spidey, Jimmy’s gotta punch you in the face,” Steph interjected. “He promised one time.”

“I was told this job wasn’t gonna involve getting punched,” Fake Spidey said, mournfully.

“Hey, shut up over there,” Wade called, turning his head away from Peter’s so that the veil slid off Peter’s flushed face before he could scramble to catch it. “We’re havin’ a moment here.”

“You’re basically gross kissing under a towel,” Steph called back. “Everyone’s done being excited about your moment. We wanna know if Sergio can bang this dude.”

“I wasn’t _actually_ gonna bang him,” Sergio started to say, but Wade was already responding.

“How _dare_ you, this is chiffon and everyone is _basking_ in the magic of the moment!”

“Uh, we should probably get back to our show at some point,” Jimmy pointed out. “We’re losing the crowd.”

“If Sergio bangs Spider-Man onstage, that can be the show and Wade and I can go take a break,” Peter suggested.

“No, nope, we’re not discussing that,” Sergio interjected when Steph and Jimmy looked like they might be considering it. “Everyone who’s not playing an instrument, get off the stage,” he declared, waving his hands wildly. “Now!”

#  **END**


	17. Addendum: Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the update no one asked for! Feel free to totally ignore it. It's just a list of the music mentioned in the story.

This is a (mostly) full list of the songs Peter sings in this story, with some notes about where they were used and key lyrics. The important thing to remember is that these songs are all ‘written’ through Peter’s point of view, so he’s not always right, and you have to assume that the lyric is reflecting his knowledge and opinions of the person or situation he’s writing about.

 

There’s a couple songs mentioned toward the beginning (‘Hard to Explain’ and ‘Under Control’, both by the Strokes) which I didn’t put in here because they aren’t really Peter’s creations based out of Peter’s perspectives. They’re just more to set the tone of the band’s style. The Strokes are a NYC band with the right kind of sound and attitude for what I think Peter’s band is going

 

* * *

 **  
Red Light - The Strokes  
** **All Chapters (but also chapter 13)**

_‘You’re all trashed up with your big red belt/ and I’d almost say that you might need help’_

_‘All the girls could never make me love them the way I love you.’_

_‘Are you coming on to me?’_

_‘I was waiting.../ for my baby to arrive/ right by my side’_  

The theme song of the whole story! All the quotes at the beginnings of the chapters are from this song, and they fit each chapter thematically. This song is THE song. It is basically the whole story in a nutshell. All the lyrics are relevant, okay? But these are the most important:

_‘I saw your face/ then I heard that song/ it was so inviting it hurt my bones_   
_Well it looked like you/ but your eyes are grey/ and your hair is gone but your mind’s ok_   
_Yes I love your smile but your forehead’s cold/ I don’t want you to be afraid and go’_

It’s a big deal when Peter sees Wade’s face. Wade sings to him all the time and Peter writes songs about Wade. Wade’s face is damaged, but it’s still him. His eyes are different from the white of his mask that Peter’s so used to seeing, his hair is gone, his mind is damaged, but it’s ultimately ‘okay’. Wade dies sometimes (forehead’s cold), and Peter is worried about Wade running from him and their potential relationship during that whole unmasking business for a number of reasons. He’s also concerned about Wade hurting himself. I could elaborate and go deeper, but I think you guys get the point. Peter would’ve written this after they got together, obviously.

 

\------

**Chapter 6**

\------

**Razorblade - Strokes**

\-----

_‘It gets extremely complicated.’_

Razorblade is about Black Cat and Peter’s relationship with her. He’s writing parts of it from what he thinks is her perspective, because he feels a little used by her ( _‘Oh no, my feelings are more important than yours/ drop dead, I don’t care, I won’t worry’_ ). It’s a little bitter, because she’s not what he wants, really, and he knows their relationship isn’t totally healthy. He’s definitely missing some of the nuance of her perspective, but that’s not really surprising considering how rarely they really actually talk to each other.

 

\-----

**Chapter 7**

\-----

**The Way It Is - Strokes**

\-----

_‘I wish it were not true/ but that’s the way it is/ it’s not your fault/ but that’s the way it is/ I’m sick of you/ and that’s the way it is and will always be’_

‘Said my goodbyes to the life we won’t spend together’

This one’s about Black Cat dumping Peter, written largely from, again, his limited grasp on her perspective ( _‘But that’s not your problem/ that’s not a problem/ that’s not my problem/ that’s not your problem’_ ). The way I see it, Felicia knew she was never going to have all of Peter, and seized on the grad student thing as an easy escape after she’d already realized things weren’t going to work out. She’d been looking for an exit strategy and found it, callous as it might’ve been, and he might have sensed that in a way ( _‘accidents happen, there’s one planned today’_ ).

\------

**Ride - Vines**

\------

This would be the song Peter wrote about himself (Spider-Man, specifically) that he’s embarrassed to talk about with Sergio. It’s generally a light song about him swinging around but also, about people having negative opinions about Spider-Man and him wanting to change that but not really having the power to ( _‘If I don’t get this message honed/ once again I’m gonna hate alone’_ ).

\------

**Doesn’t Remind Me - Audioslave**

\------

_‘Things that I loved, things that I lost/ things I held sacred that I dropped’_

_‘Do all that I need to forget’_

_‘What’s mine is ours if it doesn’t remind me of anything’_

This is the not-as-angsty-as-it-could-be song about Gwen. As you can see, it’s still not exactly upbeat. Peter mostly talks about things that have nothing to do with her to avoid thinking about her ( _‘I like hammering nails and speaking in tongues’, ‘I like gypsy moths and radio talk’, ‘I like driving backward in the fog/ cause it doesn’t remind me of anything’_ ). The optimism in this song comes out of the idea that he might be able to begin to move on ( _‘calm and sweetly/ we won’t stir up the past/ so discreetly we won’t look back'_ ), but it’s really just him learning to cope. Yes, I realize I’m a terrible person for picking a song that says, _‘things I held sacred that I dropped’_. I accept this about myself.

\-----

**The Red - Chevelle**

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_‘Lay down, the threat is real/ when his sight goes red again’_

_‘When asked what made it show/ the truth: he gives in to most’_

This is about Flash Thompson. The basic premise of the song is about a person with anger management issues, who takes it out on weaker people. Peter meant it to be both about Flash and Flash’s father, who I’m pretty sure was canonically abusive toward him. In my story, they come to a sort of understanding by graduation, so I see Peter as having gained some insight into Flash’s home life and motivations that made him a little more willing to be forgiving.

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**Something From Nothing - Foo Fighters**

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_‘Give me the flammable light/ I’m cold as a match/ ready to strike’_

_‘Here lies a city on fire/ singing along/ the arsonists choir’_

This is the song full of fire-based wordplay and references that Peter wrote for Johnny. It kind of works out that most of the fire references are at the beginning, because Peter would’ve jam-packed them in to really make everyone think it was gonna be the worst thing ever, but then he settles down and accepts that if Steph is gonna let him sing it more than once, it has to be an actual decent song, too. I feel like Johnny would love the shit out of this song and the idea of rebirth and ‘blazing’ your own path (I’m sorry, I did it too) that’s kind of recurrent throughout ( _‘I threw it all away because/ I had to be what never was’)/ (You’ll never make me change my name... fuck it all, I came from nothing’_ ).

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**Chapter 8**

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**I Am the Highway - Audioslave**

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_‘Long and weary my road has been/ I was lost in the cities, alone in the hills/ no sorrow or pity for me they feel.’_

This song is about Bruce Banner/Hulk, who Peter meets at Stark Industries and fanboys over. I like to think Peter has put some thought and empathy into what the Hulk must mean for Banner, especially considering that he occasionally teams up with the Avengers. It’s about the relationship between Banner and the Hulk ( _‘I put millions of miles under my heels/ and still too close to you I feel’_ ), and how Banner feels sometimes that people inaccurately and dangerously think of the Hulk as a tool when he’s really an inevitability, and a force of nature ( _‘I am not your rolling wheels, I am the highway/ ...I am not your blowing wind, I am the lighting’_ , etc).

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**Fell in Love With a Girl - White Stripes**

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_‘I fell in love once and almost completely/ she’s in love with the world’_

This one’s about MJ, obviously ( _‘red hair with a curl’_ ). It’s kind of paying respect to their deep relationship in the comics, and as far as I’m concerned, Peter does love MJ in this one, too. They might even have been together if she hadn’t moved to LA ( _‘my left brain knows that all love is fleeting/ she’s just looking for something new’_ ), but as it is they still have a very close, deep friendship. And he wanted to give her a fun and flattering song that she could dance to.

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**Hold Me - Weezer**

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_‘You are taller than a mountain/ deeper than the sea’_

_‘Hold me/ take me with you cause I’m lonely’_

This is that angsty song Peter told MJ he wrote about Wade. He wrote this one after Wade started being a little more careful around Peter because of the age thing ( _‘I was closer to you back then/ I was happier... you are fading further from me’_ ).

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**Chapter 9**

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**You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid - Offspring**

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_‘Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd/ and as you get back into line a mob jumps to their feet’_

_‘With a thousand lies and a good disguise/ hit ‘em right between the eyes’_

(Wade first mentions this song in chapter 9, and Black Widow herself hears it in chapter 15.)

This one’s about Black Widow, who Peter has some serious respect for and a healthy fear of. It’s generally about her being a badass spy ( _‘see the lightning in your eyes/ see ‘em running for their lives'_ ). I did actually have her say ‘nice work’ (or something along those lines) to Spider-Man at one point in the story, and he puts that in the song because it was such a big deal to him ( _'nice work you did/ you’re gonna go far, kid'_ ). I imagine that also adds to her certainty that Peter is Spider-Man. He’s a dumb guy.

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**Chapter 10**

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**Show Me How to Live - Audioslave**

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_‘This ringing in my head/ is this a cure or is this a disease’ (one of Venom’s weaknesses is really loud sounds: a cure for Peter and a disease for Venom)_

_‘And in your waiting hands I will land/ and roll out of my skin/ and in your final hour I will stand/ ready to begin’_

This song is about Venom, who Peter has a complicated relationship with. In my story, this plotline has reached the point where Peter has already dealt with fighting over his mind with the Venom suit ( _‘Built with stolen parts/ telephone in my heart/ someone get me a priest’_ ), and definitely rubbed off on him. Venom’s trying to become a vigilante like Peter, but still is a little too violent and willing to kill to really be that kind of hero. Peter wants to give him a chance (like he did with Wade and Felicia, only without dating him obviously), and tries to do his best to kind of guide him and stop him from doing bad shit when he meets him ( _‘Nail in my head from my creator/ you gave me life/ now show me how to live’_ ).

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**Chapter 12**

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**Want You Bad - Offspring**

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 _‘You’re a little on the strange side, I can’t lie’_ (we’re pretending they say ‘strange’ and not ‘straight’ for my purposes here.)

_‘I want you in a vinyl suit/ I want you bad/ complicated, X-rated...’_

This one is the song Wade realizes is about him after they get together. I figure this is another one Peter wrote to express that he’s frustrated with the distance between them, and how he wants Wade to go back to flirting with him like he used to. ( _‘If you could only read my mind/ you would know that I’ve been waiting so long/ for someone almost just like you, but with attitude...’_ )

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**Chapter 14**

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**Juicebox - Strokes**

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_‘Everybody sees me/ but it’s not that easy/ standing in the light field/ standing in the light field’_

This one’s about Tony Stark! Peter’s kind of ambivalent about him. He knows Stark wants his identity ( _‘Why won’t you come over here?/ We’ve got a city to love’_ ), and he does _not_ appreciate when Stark interferes with his and Wade’s relationship ( _‘Old time grudges/ will die so slowly’_ ).

I feel like Peter would have deliberately made the lyrics difficult to understand, just to upset and confuse Stark if he ever found out it was about him. (“Is he singing _‘you’re so cool’_ or _‘you’re so cold’_?!?! Which is it?!) But he does respect Stark ultimately. He gets a cool song, after all.

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**Like a Stone - Audioslave**

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This is another one of those super dramatic, angsty songs Peter wrote. It’s largely about how he’s separated from the people he loves by death ( _‘In your house I long to be/ room by room patiently’_ ). He’d wait alone in life for Gwen ( _‘for all that I’ve blessed/ and all that I’ve wronged/ in dreams until my death/ I will wander on’_ ), and he knows he’ll die one day and Wade will never join him ( _‘I’ll wait for you there, like a stone/ I’ll wait for you there alone’_ ).

Yeah so. He’s a drama queen but I had to add it in. I don’t think I mentioned it in any particular chapter but it’s definitely one of his songs.

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**Heart in a Cage - Strokes**

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_‘I don’t want what you want/ I don’t feel what you feel/ see I’m stuck in a city/ but I belong in a field’_

This one is kind of tentatively about the Winter Soldier ( _‘all of those you love you mistrust/ help me I’m just not quite myself/ look around there’s no one instead’_ ), and a little bit Cap too ( _‘Oh, we get left, left, left, left, left, left, left/ now it’s three in the morning and you’re eating alone’_ ), and them adjusting to being in the future and the way they’ve both changed, and Bucky dealing with what he’s done in the past ( _‘So don’t teach me a lesson cause I’ve already learned/ yeah the sun will be shining and my children will burn’_ ). It’s not totally fleshed out, and I don’t think I mentioned it in the story either. Make of it what you will.

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Let me know if I missed any, or if there’s any songs you think would work well for Daredevil, because I did kind of want him to have one and never really found one that fit him, from Peter’s perspective, in the right genre and with the right sound.

 

Wade had a whole different set of songs, but his are all a little less steeped in meaning so I wasn’t too worried about listing them. I can if anyone is interested. Just let me know!


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